


Where One Ends and the Other Begins

by kalliopeia



Category: Leverage
Genre: Eventual Bodyswap, F/M, M/M, Mind Meld, Multi, Psychic Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 10:39:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 30,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10093400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalliopeia/pseuds/kalliopeia
Summary: Nobody’s particularly shocked when the job goes spectacularly sideways because their loot turns out to be magic. Parker and Eliot begin reading each other’s minds, accidental sharing happens, and shenanigans result.Eventual OT3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Content notice: references, dreams, and brief flashbacks to Tragic Backstories, including: sexual abuse/coercion (survival sex), torture, death of a child. One of these sequences is in the form of a PTSD episode. Non-explicit violence. Discussion of potential in-story dubcon, but no actual in-story dubcon. Brief references to alcoholism (by which I mean: Nate is occasionally present). 
> 
> If you have any questions about any triggers or want me to send you a version without certain content, let me know and I’m happy to do so. 
> 
> ALSO: At times, it may appear that I am building up to a sex scene. I’m not. There are some lascivious scenes (fantasizing & a dream sequence) but no actual porn. Sorry for the tease.
> 
> Hi, everybody! This is my first fic in the Leverage fandom *throws confetti* so let me know how it's going! Comments make my day, constructive criticism is always appreciated, all that jazz. Hope you enjoy this one!

They’ve all seen… odd things, in their line of work. They don’t talk about it, and mostly they try not to even think about it. Nate and Hardison both hang on to the beliefs they had before all this- Nate refusing to even try to integrate what he’s seen to what he wants to have faith in, and Hardison putting them both together without much of a fuss. Sophie accepts a general spirituality that encompasses some of the things she’s seen, especially that thing in Cairo. Eliot doesn’t think about it, not ever. Parker accepts it as fact- she’s seen the undeniable, so denying it is pretty pointless, and she doesn’t understand why anyone would. She’s mentioned a couple of impossible stories, to stony faces and stilted expressions by the others, and stopped without really understanding why.

They don’t talk about it.

Still, nobody’s particularly shocked when the job goes spectacularly sideways because their loot turns out to be magic.

One of the crates opens up and the artifacts, two twin ancient cups, come bouncing out and roll in opposite directions. Without even hesitating, Eliot scoops one up mid-sprint, and Parker dives after the other one. 

They all see it when a flash of… something (not light, precisely, though it’s the closest comparison anyone can come up with) bonds the two cups, and the two people holding them.

It’s over in a moment, leaving Parker and Eliot slightly stunned but standing. They visibly shake it off and keep running. If they’re overly careful when depositing the goblets back into the case, in Lucille while Hardison shakes off the tail, they tell themselves it’s only because it’s their payday.

None of them say anything about it until a couple hours later, in the homebase that Nate still mistakenly thinks of as his living room.

It’s Sophie who brings it up. She always likes secrets better when she’s in the light of them. “So, the cups earlier. That was unusual.” If she hadn’t brought it up, one of the others would, eventually. They all know better than to ignore the supernatural when it creeps up. It festers.

Parker nods. “Yeah. I felt really bad for a second, but then it stopped.”

“And you feel normal now?” Nate asks, carefully.

She shrugs, which is fair. ‘Normal’ is not a thing Parker ever really experiences.

“Yeah, it stopped,” Eliot says without looking up from the zucchini he’s slicing. “Seems fine now.” And for another four hours, they try to pretend it didn’t happen.

* * *

 

Hardison is assigned to translate the markings on the cups, because all Miscellaneous Intellectual Tasks always go to Hardison, regardless of whether or not they actually fall into his skill set. He bitches about it for half an hour, then figures out the patterns and gets to work. He’s always been fascinated by a good puzzle. Sophie, who speaks a modern dialect distantly based on the ancient language, helps with the grammar, but the process is mostly Hardison squinting at his computer screen and scribbling on a notepad. They are both wearing very thick gloves, which may or may not be any help at all, but there’ve been no more odd flashes.

“They’re ceremonial,” Hardison announces. This, when paired with ancient artifacts that have already demonstrated a supernatural ability, is rarely good. “For use in weddings- the bride and groom drink out of ‘em, for… bonding.”

Eliot looks up sharply, confused. “You sure?”

Hardison makes an affronted noise. “Am I-? You wanna come over here and double check my work?”

“Why do you ask, Eliot?” Sophie asks gently.

Eliot squints for a moment, shakes his head. “F’get it.”

“Eliot…” Sophie pushes.

He shrugs. “The… thing. Made me feel lonely, isolated. Weird, for a wedding thing.”

“Well, you’re not married to Parker,” Hardison points out. “Prob’ly messed it up.”

Eliot accepts this explanation immediately, which is odd for him, and Hardison kind of misses the bickering that would usually follow. “Yeah, good point.”

“Parker, did you have a similar experience?” Sophie asks.

Parker looks up from the couch and just sort of squints. “Not really? I don’t know.”

Sophie sighs, and drops it. Hardison understands, wishes it were different, promises himself that he’ll redouble his efforts and knows it’ll still be slow going, after everything. Even after all these years, Parker still feels isolated, most all the time. Maybe she always will. Maybe there’s no coming back from something like that. But it’s better, he reminds himself, it’s so much better than it was.

He sighs, puts the translation aside from now and walks over to her, reaching a hand out slowly and then trailing it along her shoulder when she moves to invite the contact.

“Anyway, it looks like effects are supposed to be short-lived,” Hardison says. “Either of you noticed anything since then?”

“No,” Eliot replies immediately, in a tone that very much indicates he’d like to be done talking about it. Parker’s frowning slightly, but she shakes her head slightly.

Hardison nods. “A’ight, good.” He pats Parker’s shoulder gently and goes back to the translation.

* * *

Nate deals with their brush with the supernatural the way he deals with everything: drinks a great deal and goes to bed early. Parker’s not super comfortable with drunk people- they’re loud and belligerent and she always thinks of her uncle and the yelling and the bruises- but Nate’s quiet when he drinks, quiet and sad and sometimes overly dedicated. Sometimes it scares her anyway, but that’s because he’s hurting himself, not because there’s any chance of him hurting her.

Sophie slips off, eventually. Parker’s a little sad to see her go. Sophie’s seen and survived more weird supernatural things than any of the rest of them, Parker suspects, and she’d kind of prefer to keep Sophie around until she’s convinced that it’s over.

Parker’s not sure if it’s over. She maybe feels a little different, vaguely unsettled and discontent in an unusual sort of way. It could just be her brain messing with her. She saw a smuggler get totally messed up by a haunted sundial a few years ago, so maybe she’s just worried. She doesn’t feel worried, exactly, but she’s not good at feeling things, so it’s hard to be sure.

Even though Eliot insisted that it’s over, and it’s fine, he’s here too. He almost always leaves before Sophie. Parker’s not good at grifting, but it’s weird, and she thinks maybe he still doesn’t feel quite right either. 

“Hardison, are we ready to offload the cups at the auction like we planned?” Parker asks.

Hardison nods. “Yeah, aliases are in place. Auction’s on Sunday. If we go forward with the plan, Sophie and Nate’ll sell it to King.”

“If we go forward with the plan?” Eliot repeats.

“They’re magic cups, man. If you start speaking in tongues or some shit, we’re gonna have to readjust,” Hardison replies cheerfully. “Still feel normal?”

“Shut up, man. It’s over,” Eliot growls.

Parker’s not convinced, but she can feel his irritation from the other side of the room. It’s not comfortable, sort of prickly under her skin. She shifts in her seat.

“But if nothing else happens, you think we’ll still use them for the con?” Parker asks.

“I wouldn’t, but you know Nate,” Hardison says, making a face. “Haunted whammy cups are nothin’ to him if they’ll help him bring down a couple of corrupt white-collars.”

“I don’t like that,” Parker tells them. “That’s not good. I know King’s bad, and- and maybe she should feel bad, but…”

Hardison nods, watching her carefully. “Yeah, we should be careful with anything wonky like this. We’ll talk to Nate.” Which will be pointless, and they all know it- Eliot’s immediately derisive about the comment, even if he doesn’t say anything- but Parker just nods and looks away.

“Have you ever seen anything like this? Since you’re usually just with the computer, and stuff?” Parker asks.

Hardison nods. “Yeah. Never breaking into the server room of a university archeology lab again. Nuh-uh. _Crazy_ shit. That one was a weapon, though, you should be a’ight with a wedding ritual thing.”

Parker’s pretty sure that Eliot rolls his eyes, but doesn’t glance over to check. “Did it hit you? The thing in the lab? Or did you just see it?”

Hardison turns around, faces her. “Nah, I was just takin’ care of security. Guy who hired me did the stealing. It hit him. Looked creepy, though.”

Parker nods. “I’ve only ever seen it, either. Eliot?” She knows before he speaks that he’s only ever witnessed the supernatural, too. She has a brief mental image of Eliot running for his life through dirty, winding streets in some rural area of India or something.

“Yeah, same,” Eliot grunts after a moment, finally relenting to the reality that Parker is going to make him talk about this. “Not usually up close. Odisha was the worst. Guy I was working with accidentally cast a curse on himself, nearly killed the rest of us.”

The mental image gets stronger. Parker squints at him.

“Cursed himself,” she repeats. _Damn fool, getting into shit he shouldn’t._

“Damn fool, gettin’ into shit he shouldn’t,” Eliot grumbles. “We were on a job.”

Parker hesitates. “Eliot.”

A spike of concern. “What?”

“Are you reading my mind? Because I think I’m maybe reading yours,” Parker tells him. She thinks maybe he’s alarmed by that, but he just scowls and shakes his head.

“That’s impossible, Parker,” he tells her.

“Pick a number between one and a hundred and think it as loud as you can,” Parker instructs, and then, “Forty-three.” Eliot grimaces. “Okay, now see if you can read me!”

Eliot hesitates. “A hundred and five. Parker, that’s cheating.”

Parker shrugs. “I’m a criminal. So you can totally read my mind.”

“A’ight, a’ight,” Hardison says, remarkably calmly. “Just each other or are you psychic? C’mon, I’m thinkin’ of a number.”

“Probably pi, knowin’ you,” Eliot grumbles. “But no, I’m not gettin’ anything. Parker?” She shakes her head.

“First of all, pi is cliché. I was thinkin’ twelve, but in binary. Second, you two are definitely mind-melding. Very sci-fi, really.”

“Stop making jokes, Hardison, this is a problem!” Eliot snarls. “You know what kinda stuff is in my head?”

Hardison stares at him, very seriously. “Got an idea. And I got an idea what kinda stuff’s in hers, too. So I’m gonna work on this translation, and figure out how to get this thing fixed. But I also know you both’ve survived worse than a little supernatural privacy invasion, and you’re gonna be okay. I’m gonna joke because it’s what I do, and because panicking is gonna make things worse for you both, but I’m takin’ this serious. I’ve got your back, okay?”

Parker nods. “Okay,” she whispers, because she’s still pretty new to trusting people, but she trusts him, trusts him like she trusts her own body. She feels Eliot relent a second later.

Eliot’s scared, she realizes suddenly. He doesn’t look scared, but she can feel it coming off him. She stares at him for a second, confused. They’re team. She doesn’t like this either, but they’re team, and she’s not scared.

“We could call Sophie,” Hardison offers. “Wake up Nate, though that could take some doing, amount of whiskey he’s had.”

“There’s nothing they can do right now,” Parker points out quietly. “We need you to figure out the translation. And we need us to stay calm. Other than that, there’s nothing we can do until tomorrow.”

“Nate’s too drunk to be of any help. Soph’s probably too tired,” Eliot says quietly. Parker thinks that maybe he’s just not ready for them to know, yet. She’s not either.

“Yeah, speaking of too tired,” Hardison says gently. “You two’ve both gone hard this job, and this whole psychic thing is probably gonna be exhausting. You want to go home and get some sleep? I’ll keep working here.”

Parker shakes her head. “I claim this armchair,” she says, waving a dramatic arm at the armchair she’s sitting in. “I’ll nap. Wake me up if you find anything.”

Eliot grunts and spreads out a little on the couch. Parker smiles at him. A minute later, she’s out like a light.


	2. Chapter 2

Sophie turns back up early, looking slightly less poised than usual. It’s early enough that Eliot and Parker are still asleep, Parker curled up on the chair like a cat and Eliot snoring softly on the couch.

“I had trouble sleeping,” Sophie whispers to Hardison, giving Parker and Eliot a worried look. “I’m concerned.”

Hardison nods and reaches for his can of energy drink, only to find it empty. He considers for a moment and then just tells her. “Somethin’ happened. Figured out last night that Parker and Eliot are mind-melded, or something. They can communicate psychically.”

Sophie sighs. “Ah. How bad?”

Hardison shrugs. “Hard to tell. Didn’t seem too bad, and everything I’ve translated on these creepy things implies that it’s only supposed to be temporary. Wedding thing.”

“The cups think that Eliot and Parker are married?” Sophie repeats, looking slightly amused despite herself. “Are you all right with that?”

Hardison raises his eyebrows. “I’m not overly invested in what some magic cups think, ‘s long as it doesn’t end badly for them.”

Sophie smiles softly at him. “How are they dealing so far?”

“They aren’t. You know them.” Hardison glances over to where they’re both asleep, still. He wonders if they’re dreaming each other’s nightmares. The thought makes him shudder a bit and turn away again.

Sophie makes a soft sound. “It’s temporary. Is there anything that can be done to speed up the process?”

Hardison shrugs, nods. “Yeah. It’s a ritual, right? Can tell that pretty much off the bat. Well, there’s a way to complete the ritual-” He waves at what he suspects are the relevant markings on the base of the cups. “Which presumably ends the brain blending.”

“Are you struggling to translate it?”

Hardison frowns at her. “Woman, it’s a complicated ritual inscription in a half-assed dead language, written in teeny-tiny letters and terrible lines on a cursed cup, weathered and scratched all to hell over the past few centuries so it’s hard to even make out what the markings are. And I am a computer hacker. This is not my skill set.”

“And yet, remarkably, you’ve translated a significant portion already,” Sophie points out.

“I am brilliant, yes, but if they’re on the line… Hell, we don’t even know what’s on the line,” Hardison points out worriedly.

Sophie pats his shoulder. “You’ll take care of them. You always do, you know.”

“This is supernatural shit, Sophie! I’ll do what I can, but we should find an expert, or somethin.’ Think Maggie’d know how to do this?”

As if summoned by the mention of his ex-wife, Nate manifests out of his bedroom in a bathrobe and sunglasses. “Coffee,” Nate grunts.

“On the pot, and be quiet. Parker and Eliot are asleep,” Hardison murmurs.

“Half right,” Eliot grumbles, stirring. “Ugh. Nate, your couch is terrible.”

“I can replace it,” Hardison offers. “Preferences?”

“No getting rid of my furniture,” Nate orders, wincing from the loudness of his own voice. When Hardison glances back over at Parker, he finds her awake and looking the most alert out of all of them.

“It’s not just your couch. He got shot in that shoulder. In North Korea,” Parker says. Eliot blinks, makes a face.

“Was hoping it’d be over when I woke up,” he says, rubbing his brow.

“Nate, Parker and Eliot are reading each other’s minds,” Hardison announces. Nate looks very much like he’d like to get another drink, but as it’s not even seven in the morning and Sophie’s here to judge him, he finishes descending the stairs and pours some coffee instead.

“Mind reading,” he repeats, once he’s had a few swallows of coffee. “Hardison?”

“Look, y’all need to stop expecting that I can just understand this stuff,” Hardison complains, before updating Nate on the situation with the cups. He finishes with a, “We can’t sell ‘em to King, at any rate. Probably no one needs to know what’s in her head, ‘cept maybe Sophie.” Sophie wrinkles her nose delicately.

Nate takes a deep breath, nods slowly. “What’s our priority here? The con, or the brain thing?”

“Get her out of my head, Nate,” Eliot says. It mostly sounds like an order. Hardison’s known Eliot long enough to hear the edge of alarm under his voice.

“Fine,” Nate says. Hardison straightens a bit in alarm. Nate basically never deprioritizes cases. Sure, this one isn’t overly personal for him, but still- man’s married to his job like nobody’s business. If he’s setting it aside because two of his team have become slightly psychic… Hardison doesn’t even want to consider what kind of shit Nate’s probably seen in his day.

“I’m translating the cups best I can, but we need an expert,” Hardison says.

Nate immediately shakes his head. “No, no. Trust me, those guys are useless. Best case, they think you’re crazy; worst case, they think you’ll finally get them published. No anthropologists. What do you need to translate it by the end of today?”

“…To have lived the past five years of my life very differently?” Hardison suggests. A time machine is not on the table. Which is probably for the best, because that’s definitely a paradox, and- Hardison shakes his head, dismissing it as not important right now. Nate frowns expectantly at Hardison, who sighs. “Get me some rubbing paper. And more energy drinks.”

* * *

Eliot stays for as long as he can- cooks breakfast, cleans it up and waves Sophie off when she tries to help, paces around and asks Hardison for too many updates. He’s doing something different, now, typing some code, intermittently scanning in the cup or the rubbings he’s done of its markings and muttering to himself about the results.

Other than Hardison’s focus, the room is full of nervous tension. He has no idea how Nate’s managing it with the hangover, but Eliot is restless, pacing, hands moving. As if being in a room with all the anxiety isn’t bad enough, Parker’s is being broadcasted directly into his head. It’s winding him up. He doesn’t want to be alone, and he doesn’t want to leave them, but.

“Eliot’s going to go hit things,” Parker announces to the group, seconds before he’s about to make more or less the same announcement. “I’m stressing him out. Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” he mutters. “My apartment’s a ways out. Hopefully the distance…” He’s not particularly hopeful. In his experience, these things aren’t overly concerned with geography. Besides which, it’d only be a Band-Aid- he’s gonna be back here sooner rather than later even if it does work. 

He goes, drives to his apartment and then past it to his favorite gym. The incessant flutter in his head that is Parker gets a bit smaller, a bit less intrusive, but there’s not much change. He can still feel her, quick and flitting exhaustively in the back of his head. Occasionally he gets flashes of emotion, bits of thoughts- Parker thinks about escape plans more than anyone should need to in their own office- but mostly it’s just the movement. He’s increasingly sure that Parker never stops thinking.

And Eliot’s brain doesn’t work like that, or maybe only works like that when he’s desperate, when he’s tied to a chair with a gun to his face and no allies coming, because that feeling is what it’s reminding him of. So he goes to the gym, changes into workout clothes, and hits a bag until his knuckles hurt and his pulse is pounding in his head loud enough to feel like it’s the only thing in there.

Eventually he has to stop, ice his hands and get some water, and as soon as he does, he can feel her again. She’s calmer, now, or maybe he is- either way, the constant motion of her brain against his isn’t nearly as abrasive now.

It could be worse, Eliot lets himself think for the first time. At least it’s Parker. At least it’s someone he trusts.

He can feel the sentiment echoed back to him, and smiles a little.

Eliot hits the weights, which doesn’t block her out nearly as much, but it’s still easy enough to get through his usual routine. He’s considering doing some running on the treadmill when he notices that Parker’s nervous.

 _What?_ he thinks as loudly as he can. In response, he gets a sudden mental image of Hardison muttering curses at his computer screen.

 _He won’t tell us what he’s found yet. He says he’s not sure._ The words drift across his head in Parker’s voice, the same way the number she’d chosen had slipped into his thoughts last night, but louder.

 _I’m on my way_ , he thinks back, and grabs his stuff.

* * *

“I’m not sure,” Hardison says again, even as he increasingly becomes more sure. “I could still be wrong- there could be a scratch I’m interpreting as a marking, or vice versa… Or, or it could be a regional dialect that doesn’t quite match the translation guide I’m using. This is, again, the part where I point out that I’m not even close to an expert.”

“How bad is it?” Parker asks, voice small.

Hardison makes himself stop, take in a deep breath, and then say in what he hopes is a reassuring voice, “Not that bad, I don’t think.” It’s kind of funny, maybe, or at least he can already think of a few dozen jokes to make about the situation.  “Uh, and I’m sure we can figure something out.”

“Hardison, tell us what it is,” Nate orders.

Hardison shakes his head, but it’s Sophie who bails him out. “We need to wait until Eliot gets back. This involves him,” she says gently.

Hardison takes a couple more deep breaths. Parker still looks a little freaked out, but Sophie’s saying something about a new type of security system in a very soothing voice, so Hardison lets it go and turns back to the symbol he’s been squinting at for ten minutes.

He’s pretty sure. And it makes sense. And it really, really should be funny, but also just isn’t. Especially with what he knows about Parker… But, hey, it’s Parker and Eliot. There are worse things.

It’s another few minutes of Hardison searching for another interpretation and becoming increasingly more convinced that he already has the right one before Eliot storms through the door. (His hair is halfway tied back, damp and curling, and he’s still in his workout clothes, and it fries Hardison’s brain for about half a second until he remembers that they are in the midst of A Crisis and turns back to his computer.)

“What, Hardison?” Eliot demands, crossing the room to lean on the edge of the couch.

“A’ight, so I’m not one hundred percent sure-”

“Cut to the chase!”

Hardison makes a face in Eliot’s direction, but complies. “So, remember how I said that this thing was designed to be temporary? Short-term?”

“It’s not?” Parker asks.

“Nah, normally it is. It’s a wedding ritual. Designed to start as a part of the ceremony, and resolve itself… erm, shortly afterward.”

“Oh dear,” Sophie murmurs softly.

Parker glances around. “What?”

Hardison turns to face her and says, very gently, “Parker, supernatural forces want you and Eliot to _do the do_.”

“…Okay, I have no idea what that means.”

“Sex, Parker!” Eliot groans, not looking at her.

Parker stiffens, pales.

Eliot immediately stumbles a few steps back. “Whoa. Whoa! Okay, okay, not doing that. Got it.”

“Oh, sorry,” Parker whispers. “I didn’t mean for you to see that.” She pauses, bites her lip and curls her knees into her chest. “I don’t think I want to.”

Eliot’s a shade too pale and his eyes are wide. Hardison doesn’t want to wonder what he’s just seen. Eliot just says quietly, “I don’t want to, either, not if you think it’ll make you feel like that.”

“Nobody’s gonna make you do a thing you don’t want to,” Hardison tells her, gently. It’s a talk they’ve had more than once, though this is certainly a different lens on the thing. “We’ll find another way. It’ll be all right.”

Nate clears his throat and says, “Hardison’s right. We’ll figure something else out. Is it fading at all?”

Eliot shakes his head. “Gettin’ stronger.”

Nate huffs. “Okay. Hardison, anything else on there?”

Hardison shrugs. “Maybe? I’ve got a good guess as to the gist, but there are bits and pieces I haven’t nailed down yet, and this is only what’s on the cups themselves. I hacked the museum for their info hours ago, and they didn’t have any more information about them stored on the online system, but that don’t mean it doesn’t exist. I still think we should steal ourselves an expert.”

“No anthropologists,” Nate says again, firmly. “You’re doing a fine job translating.”

“Yeah, well, we need more than someone to work the dictionary,” Hardison argues. “I’m telling you, if there’s another way to fix this thing, I don’t think I’m gonna be the one to find it.”

“Well, Hardison, what are you suggesting?” Nate asks in that tone of his that sounds reasonable but that he only uses when he has absolutely no intent of being reasonable at all.

Hardison ignores it, pulls up a webpage. “This is Dr. Timbrook, works at the museum. Her department is the one we lifted the cups off of, and her research is in the culture they came from. Grift her, kidnap her, whatever we gotta do- if anyone does, she’s the one who’ll know the answers.”

“And if she doesn’t?” Eliot asks.

Hardison shrugs. “Then we figure out another way. Which would probably take some time.”

“Breaking the cups won’t work, you think?” Sophie asks.

Hardison throws up his hands. “I look like a magician to you? No idea. But I know they used the artifact to reverse the whammy last time I saw somethin’ like this happen, and I don’t wanna get rid of any options on a whim.”

Sophie nods. “All right, Hardison. We’re all trying to help.” Her voice is still soft, but there’s a note of chastisement in it now. Hardison makes himself ease back.

“Parker, Eliot, how long do you two think you can deal with this?” Nate asks.

Parker shrugs. “I don’t like this, but I’ve dealt with worse.” Eliot just gestures at her and nods.

“Okay,” Nate says slowly. “If we work over the anthropologist, it’ll mess up our con. We hold off until we finish the job, you’ll both be okay?” Parker and Eliot both nod. Neither of them, Hardison observes, looks particularly certain about it.

“Then again, you said it’s getting stronger,” Sophie points out. “Will you both be able to handle it if the strength increases?”

They look even less certain.

Parker just shrugs. “Eliot’s brain is kind of messy, but so is mine, so we’ll see.” Eliot winces, looks suddenly doubtful, but doesn’t contradict her.

“All right,” Nate says hesitantly. “We finish the job, and then we interrogate the anthropologist. Anyone disagree?”

Even asking is a sign that Nate’s not totally sure about the call here. Nobody really looks like they agree with this assessment, but nobody speaks up either.

“If it’s a problem, we’ll tell you,” Eliot promises tiredly.

“Good,” Nate says, nodding. “Hardison, keep on the research. See if you can find another way out of this.”

Hardison huffs. “Yeah, ‘course.”

Silence reigns, then. Hardison goes back to his translation, but he’s aware of the team behind him, none of them willing to be the first to go. Finally, with the creak of a window, Parker is the first one out, and the rest trail out after a while, leaving Hardison to his computer and his energy drinks.

He’s going to get the translation figured out, that he knows now. He just doesn’t expect it to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate all of you who've commented so far <3 They always delight me. Thanks!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter briefly goes a little more in-depth about Parker's history. Nothing explicit, but content warnings for mentions of sexual coercion/survival sex. As always, if there's any content you want more information on before reading, or if you want a version with certain content removed, let me know and I'm happy to oblige.

Eliot goes home and cooks. He’s not hungry, particularly, but he is stressed, and cooking helps. He mentally draws up a meal plan for the next week on the drive, buys some groceries, and gets to work. Most of what he makes is complicated, probably unnecessarily so, but it helps and it will be delicious.

He can feel Parker being entertained by his intense opinions on spices, but he can also tell that she is eating cereal designed for children whose parents know nothing about nutrition, so he doesn’t feel the need to give her opinion much weight.

When she finishes her cereal and moves on to working on some rigging she’s developing, he can feel that too, buzzing around in the back of his head. Eliot’s more used to it, now, and it’s still distracting- he burns the hell out of a batch of scallops when her safety line slips- but it’s oddly companionable nonetheless. They don’t try to communicate, just keep to their own activities with an awareness of each other right there.

He’s getting used to the way her brain works, which is slightly disturbing in itself, but he adapts to function. It’s a little easier now that he’s used to it- her mind jumps from topic to topic to topic and back again, and now that he’s expecting it, it doesn’t feel quite so much like motion sickness.

It’s still _annoying_ , though.

So he cooks, and Parker dangles contentedly from the ceiling of her warehouse, and they more or less ignore each other as best as they can.

It’s several hours before anything changes, but Eliot gives in first. He packs his gourmet meals into Tupperware- they’ll keep well for a few days- puts some salmon on the smoker to cold-smoke for several hours, and drives back to McRory’s. He ignores the amused waves from the staff as he arrives for the second time today, and he ignores Nate, who’s staring into his glass in the corner and probably noticed Eliot coming in but shows no sign of it.

Upstairs, he finds Hardison passed out on the couch, a note on the arm of the couch directing them to the translation on Nate’s table and ordering them to wake him up if he can be helpful again.

Eliot moves- he always moves quietly, it’s his training, but Hardison’s been up for too many hours trying to help them, so he’s intentional about it now- and picks up the printed page on the table. It’s thorough- an image of each marking as it appears on the cup, with the marking Hardison’s matched it to from the translation guide below it, and finally the English translation at the bottom. Most of it is useless, wedding blessings and religious ritual gibberish, but it’s all there.

And it stills says that the ritual will last through the consummation of the marriage. Eliot sighs. He’s not surprised- Hardison wouldn’t’ve mentioned it if there was much chance he was wrong, and he’s rarely known Hardison to be wrong about much anyway.

Eliot huffs and puts it down. There’s nothing more to be gleaned from it.

“No change?” Parker asks quietly.

Eliot glances over to the window. He hadn’t heard her come in- or felt it, either, through the link.

“No. Sorry,” Eliot says.

Parker nods. “It’s not your fault.” She picks up the translation and reads through it. “Hey, remember when Hardison was complaining that we couldn’t possibly expect him to figure this out?”

“I remember something about how he’d need to have lived a different life to translate this by the end of today,” Eliot says, grinning a little.

“Dammit, Jim, I’m a hacker, not a translator,” Hardison mumbles from the couch.

“Who is Jim? There’s no Jim here,” Parker says, confused.

“Star Trek reference, Parker,” Eliot informs her.

Hardison sits up sharply, peering suspiciously at Eliot. “You understood that? Oh my god, are you a secret Trekker? You got that?”

“I don’t watch the show, I just have a vague awareness of pop culture,” Eliot says, rolling his eyes.

“Parker, is he lying?” Hardison asks.

Parker focuses, squinting. “A little bit. He bootlegged some of the episodes when he was in Iran because his knee was messed up and the only other thing available was Desperate Housewives.” Eliot drops his head onto his arms and groans. Parker tilts her head and adds, “He ran out of it and ended up watching Desperate Housewives anyway.” Eliot groans louder.

Hardison is giggling gleefully.

“Get the hell out of my head, Parker,” Eliot orders, more or less pointlessly.

Parker shrugs. “Can’t. Your head is in my head. It’s like a thundercloud in the back of my brain.” Eliot startles at the description and looks at her sideways, afraid that the violence in his head is getting into hers despite all he’s tried not to think about it, not to let it get that close to the surface. Parker just smiles, sweetly, and says, “It’s okay. I’ve always liked thunderstorms.”

Eliot can feel the honesty of it, can feel her utter lack of fear, and doesn’t really know what to do with that.

Hardison looks very much like he wants to continue discussing Eliot’s last-ditch TV experiences, but doesn’t want to interrupt what he’s clearly interpreting as a Moment. Eliot does not smile.

“What do we do now?” Eliot asks, gesturing at the translation. “This ain’t exactly helpful.”

“Yeah, I still don’t want to sleep with you,” Parker informs him. “Nothing personal, I just…”

She trails off, and it hits him again. It’s the same mental image now as it was when she first learned about it, and just as unpleasant on re-run. Tense muscles and weight and eyes tightly screwed shut and pain and _just get through this just survive get what you need it’ll be okay you can do this just survive just survive_ and resigned anger because that’s easier than fear.

At first, Eliot doesn’t react this time, doesn’t stagger from the knowledge that this is how she imagines it, this is what she thinks it would be like if they did what the cups evidently want.

And then he realizes that he misinterpreted it, that first time- it’s not her imagination, it’s a memory. It’s a series of memories.

Something happened, and she did feel that way, and this situation with the cups is reminding her of it.

Eliot has about a half-second of dawning horror that he uses to dive for a trash can. He’s retching as soon as he reaches it.

As soon as he’s thrown up most of today’s food and is aware of his surroundings again, it’s to a hand holding his hair back and Hardison’s voice above him, “Okay, there you go, there it is, that is disgusting, okay.”

Eliot sits up and wipes his mouth with his sleeve, earning another mildly grossed-out sound from Hardison, who has not yet released the hair.

“Did I do that?” Parker asks, bewildered. “Was that my fault?”

And he knows what question Parker’s asking, but he’s sure as fuck not responding ‘yes’ because he has principles and this, this is…

Not actually a surprise, really. By any useful definition of the term, Parker’s been through as many wars as he has.

Eliot stands, nearly knocking Hardison over and freeing his hair in the process, and goes to get a glass of milk.

“Yeah, that was me, but I don’t get why,” Parker says while he’s gargling it. “Also, Nate’s going to get mad at you if you keep stealing his food.”

Eliot spits into the sink, sets his glass down a little more roughly than he means to and rasps, “Parker, if you ever give me their names, I will hunt them down, cut their balls off, and feed ‘em to them.”

“Can you do that?” Parker asks, more curious than anything else. She finds the answer somewhere and is mildly disappointed by it. “Oh, well. No, thank you, it’s okay.”

“If we’re talkin’ about what I think we’re talkin’ about, then no, it’s really not,” Hardison tells her, very gently. “Are you both okay?”

“Sure,” Parker says, a little bewildered. “Eliot’s kind of freaking out, though.”

Eliot swallows a mouthful of milk. “Parker…” He has no idea where he was going with that.

Parker shrugs. Eliot can feel discomfort through the link. She blows out a long breath and then says, rapidly, “So some stuff happened that shouldn’t’ve happened. I was too young and I wasn’t good enough yet to take care of myself all the way and sometimes it was like that, I needed something and that was the cost and I just had to get through it and it was bad. It was bad, and I’m, I’m still working on dealing with that. So, like, I don’t want to have sex with you for this thing and it’s not because of you, because I trust you and also you’re really pretty so it’s not that, I just. I don’t want it to be like that ever again, that I’m doing it because I need something and I’m scared of what’ll happen if I don’t.” She curls up into a ball on her chair and breaks eye contact, staring determinedly into the corner.

Eliot isn’t good at words on the best of days, which this isn’t. He sends a glance at Hardison, who is quietly wiping his eyes with his scarf.

“Parker, I’m not going to ask you to,” Eliot tells her, and it’s so inadequate, but he has nothing else. “I wouldn’t. We’ll figure something else out.”

She nods and doesn’t look up. “I know,” she says. “I’m sorry I made you throw up.”

“It’s fine. Are you all right?”

Parker looks up, meeting his eyes again. “I don’t like talking about what it was like then, but I’m fine now. Things are different. I haven’t felt like that in a long time. I’m fine.”

And she’s being honest, he can feel that she is, but the denial of old pain still hurting is something Eliot knows well enough to recognize when he sees it. He wants very badly to put those men through a wood chipper, conscious and feet first.

“You probably could do that,” Parker says thoughtfully. Eliot snorts despite himself, too caught off guard to smother it.  Parker grins at him, and it looks realer than he knows it to be, and says, “It’s not you. It’s the cups, it’s because something is trying to, to threaten me into it. It’s not you.” Her voice is steady now, calmer, but it’s pitched slightly higher than usual and Eliot can still feel some anxiety radiating out across the link. This, though, this feels like the absolute truth. She has no fear of Eliot.

“Parker, I’m not offended,” Eliot tells her.

“Is everybody okay?” Hardison asks quietly. He’s not crying, now, just watching them both with wide, concerned eyes. Eliot glances at Parker first.

Parker just shrugs. “I’m okay. I don’t like talking about it, but it’s not a big deal anymore. Eliot’s still a little jittery, but he’s kind of like that a lot, so he’ll probably be fine.”

This causes Hardison to send Eliot a mildly alarmed look, which is less than helpful, but he doesn’t say anything about it.

“Do we need to tell Nate we’re calling this?” Hardison asks.

“I’m fine,” Parker says, exasperation creeping into her tone. “I just don’t like talking about it. I haven’t jumped out a window, which is an improvement from when I told you, though, so.” She shrugs. “Nothing’s actually any worse.”

“Eliot?” Hardison asks gently.

“If she’s fine, I’m fine,” he grunts. The glass of milk is empty, and the burn in his throat is mostly gone, so he just rinses it and leaves it in Nate’s sink.

Hardison’s staring at them both with a sort of gentle worry. Eliot suddenly feels a wave of affection for him- he traces it and finds that it originates from Parker, though it feels surprisingly at home in his head too. Which is not a train of thought he’d like to be on, so he shakes the thought.

They sit in silence for a few moments before the door opens and Sophie and Nate walk in.

“What happened here?” Sophie asks, immediately, her nose wrinkling in distaste as she smells the vomit.

“Parker accidentally dumped a bucket of her trauma on Eliot. They both claim to be fine,” Hardison sums up.

“Ah,” Sophie says delicately, glancing worriedly between them. “And you would tell us if you weren’t?”

“Are you and Hardison competing on who can Mom Friend the hardest? We’re fine,” Eliot grumbles.

Sophie smiles softly at him. “I wouldn’t have a single solitary hope,” she quips.

“No one can Mom Friend harder than me,” Hardison agrees solemnly. “I am the Momiest Friend.”

“Good. In that case, Hardison, are they all right?” Nate asks.

Hardison shrugs. “I don’t think I would be.” Which doesn’t mean all that much and they all know it, they must. Hardison is soft and healthy and whole, in a way that neither Eliot nor Parker has been in years and probably never will be again. It’s always harder to break the ones who’ve done it before, who’ve already grown used to their own jagged edges. Hardison, out of all of them, is still unbroken, is not war-torn the way they all are, Eliot and Parker most of all. And Eliot would die or kill to protect that, he wouldn’t even hesitate, but the truth is nonetheless that things that would crush Hardison can be brushed off by Eliot and Parker, and surely everyone knows it.

“We’re both fine,” Parker insists again. “Nothing’s different for me than it was yesterday, and Eliot wants to hit some people but he’s like that a lot, and if I’d broken him by accident I’d know and I’d tell you.”

Hardison sighs and says, “Yeah, they’re probably a’ight. Been through a lot worse, and all. Nate, I hate this.”

Nate grunts in a way that sounds very much like agreement. “Auction’s in two days. Soon as we’re done with that, we can talk to the anthropologist, if there’s no complications. Dunno if it’ll help- anthropologists tend toward useless- but hopefully it’ll give us a direction to go from here.”

“Man, what is your beef against the anthropology field?” Hardison asks exasperatedly. “Did one of ‘em try to experiment on you or what?”

Nate grunts. “Not me, no. Maggie had an incident. A few incidents.”

The familiar awkward silence that appears whenever Nate’s former family is mentioned floats between them for a few seconds.

“Take out the trash,” Nate orders to the room at large a moment later, breaking the tension. “If you’re gonna puke in my kitchen, it’s only polite.”

Eliot has to jump for it, because Hardison moves at the same time, and that is unacceptable. He takes it out, and stands by the dumpster for a moment wishing for a moment to himself. He doesn’t have it, of course, because Parker’s brain is fluttering almost frantically at the back of his head. He’s doing his best to block out the actual thoughts, but the motion never goes away, the impression of her is constant, and he knows that she feels him too- reminiscent of a thundercloud, apparently. Privacy doesn’t really exist right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear everyone who's left me comments so far: you all brighten my day, thank you!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is has some of Eliot's history- nonexplicit, again, but a PTSD episode that does contain mentions of torture. Brief, vague mentions of a panic attack.

When Eliot heads back up, he arrives to a tactical discussion about the auction, and which stolen pieces should be resold to King, since the cups can’t be now. It’s not an aspect of the crime Eliot really has a say in, but he sits with them anyway, listening to the soothing sounds of Nate and Sophie bitching at each other.

Hardison sits next to him and half-listens while replacing a boxful of comm’s batteries with tweezers, and Eliot watches out of the corner of his eye, the steady rhythmic motions of his hands. Nate keeps asking him what he knows about specific artifacts, which is nothing more than he knew before the heist, because he’s been focused on the situation with “the damn whammy cups, Nate!” After the third such question, Hardison puts aside the batch of comms and pulls out a tablet, researching in real time.

Parker sits on the arm of the couch, curled up and occasionally knocking her elbow indelicately into Eliot’s ear, which was unintentional the first time she did it, but apparently he made a funny face. She looks like she’s listening, but Eliot can feel her happily fantasizing a long-ago theft of what she thinks of as a very pretty Christmas ornament (Eliot’s pretty sure it’s a Faberge egg, but he’s not going to correct her- if the fact that it’s April isn’t slowing her down, he doubts that would).

Nate’s pulling for the religious icon, which is worth only slightly less than the cups and thus is the most likely to hook King. Hardison is arguing that the icon could also be supernatural- they have no proof it isn’t, it was found at the same site as the cups, and something about Indiana Jones- and is arguing on behalf of a vase. Sophie wants to use the diadem. She’s not really giving any reasons for this, but Eliot’s known her for long enough to know that the woman’s just really into diadems.

And Eliot is fond of them, enough that it is a Problem most days, but he is, and he’s had a shit enough day that he gives himself a second to just be glad they’re here, and that this is at least happening surrounded by people he trusts. If something like this had happened before… well.

Parker elbows him in the ear again, jerking him out of the reverie. He growls at her and she beams at him, utterly unconcerned, and tugs on a bit of his hair. He makes a face and leans away from her- and into Hardison, who just adjusts to continue looking at his tablet- but doesn’t get up. She beams harder.

The diadem wins, because it gets a greenish light from Hardison and because Nate’s soft spot is large and Sophie-shaped.

“I’ll try it on,” she offers coyly. “Make sure it isn’t cursed as well.”

“No,” Eliot says flatly. “If it is cursed, we don’t need three of us hit at the same time. Even Hardison can’t Mom Friend for three of us.”

“I was a foster kid. I can Mom Friend legions,” Hardison says, sounding mildly offended that his overcaring skills are being questioned. “He’s right, though, finding out if an artifact is magic by putting it on your head is a terrible plan.”

Sophie puts her hands up, smirking. “All right, all right. Ruin my fun.” Of course, all the woman wants is to look pretty in incredibly expensive historical artifacts while ripping off a mark. Eliot relaxes slightly. This situation is completely out of control, and Sophie’s making jokes about dolling herself up in ancient jewelry. At least some things never change.

Parker has “Joy to the World” stuck in her head, now, and it’s getting maddeningly repetitive, for all that she’s apparently enjoying the hell out of the situation. Most of the lyrics are wrong, but Eliot kind of enjoys her version more than the original, even if he can barely follow it.

Hardison has to do some hacking- artificially raise the price of the diadem, and get their aliases in place. He grumbles, getting up from the couch and going to his computer setup.

“Eliot, go get some dinner, will you?” Sophie asks sweetly. Eliot nods- he always gets the job when Sophie asks, because he’s the only one who will go two blocks over to buy some real food rather than just buying bar food from downstairs. McRory’s is great and Eliot is significantly fonder of the place than he is of his own apartment, by now, but he suspects that the food is designed to kill its patrons before the booze can do it.

The walk to the sandwich shop is quiet. Eliot spots a profile that startles him for a second, nearly freezes him, and for a second he’s sure that he’s back- but it’s not, it’s not, the man’s been dead for seven years. Still, he has to check more closely to confirm that, indeed, the torturer is not standing on the sidewalk, and the anxiety won’t leave him. He’s fucking furious at himself, because it’s been years, years since that, and he shouldn’t be thinking about it anymore. That prison shouldn’t still be right there behind his eyes, the pain shouldn’t still echo off his skin.

He’d thought that these moments would stop after he killed the man, that the nightmares and flashbacks and unexpected jolts of alarm would ease off. He’d been wrong. It’s not the only time he’s mistakenly thought he could kill his ghosts.

Eliot half-shakes the ugly thoughts and buys the sandwiches. He doesn’t look over his shoulder, knows there’s nothing to see- it’s been years, goddamn it, he’s safe here, but damn if he can convince the primal part of his brain of that. He takes the sandwiches, thanks the cashier, drops the coins in the tip jar, and ambles out, perfectly normal.

If he checks every pedestrian’s face twice to make sure none of them were involved, well, no one has to know. Eliot tightens his grip on the bag and keeps his breathing steady and doesn’t reach out to brush any of the scars. Breath steady, sandwiches in hand. He’s fine.

He glances over and spots Sophie sprinting across the sidewalk.

“Whoa, Soph, what’s-”

She interrupts, “Whatever you’re thinking about, you need to stop, _now_.”

Parker.

Shit, he’d forgotten. How had he forgotten?

Eliot has to search for her, the fluttering is drawn up tight and unobtrusive now, but when he tracks her, he recognizes it instantly. Panic attack. He’s never been particularly prone to them, but he’s had a couple just as a result of the shit he’s seen. Parker’s having a panic attack.

“Ah, Christ,” Eliot mutters.

“Focus, Eliot,” Sophie orders. She gestures him under the awning of a closed antique store, but doesn’t touch him. “Tell me… teach me a recipe.”

It takes him a second, but he gets it, tries to lock on. “A’ight, so Cornish game hens, right? You rub the hens with- with olive oil, first, and then you put a lemon wedge and a sprig of rosemary- fresh rosemary is better, makes all the difference…”

It doesn’t really work, not any better than his usual distraction techniques, anyway, but it works well enough. He’s explaining a third recipe to Sophie- who’s excellent at this, acting like all the world like nothing in her life’s more interesting in that moment than his falafel recipe- when she gets a call.

“Yes, he’s here… Is she-? All right. All right, one moment.” Sophie puts her phone away and says, gently, “She’s all right. We’re going back to the apartment now, all right? Now, keep telling me about the falafel. Why can’t you use a blender?”

They walk back to the bar, Sophie gently asking him some more questions about his cooking in a tone he’s only ever heard her use on marks and scared clients. Eliot tries to focus on the recipes, tries not to worry about Parker or find her in his head, afraid of making it worse again.

Sophie enters the apartment first, Eliot trailing behind her.

“A’ight, they’re here,” Hardison calls to the ceiling. Eliot glances up and spots Parker there, sitting on a rafter with her knees to her chest. “Is that okay?”

In response, Parker drops deftly from the ceiling and sprints toward Eliot. He barely has time to brace before she’s crashing directly into him, grabbing his shirt and hooking her chin over his shoulder.

“Whoa, Parker,” Eliot says. “You all right?”

“What?” Parker demands. “Yeah, I’ve never actually been tortured, I’m great, are _you_ all right?”

“I’m fine,” Eliot says slowly. The attack is over, but the aftermath is still alarm, her mind shaking wildly in the back of his. “Parker. Parker, you’re safe.” Her grip on him tightens slightly, and he continues, “You’re not there and- and if something like that ever happened, you know we’d come for you. You’re safe.”

“I know that,” Parker tells him seriously, pulling back and looking him in the eye, her hands still gripping his shirt. “Why didn’t anyone come for you?”

Now that he notices it, all her alarm is aimed at him, not at herself. It’s all empathy. “I’m fine, Parker,” he tells her, knowing perfectly well it won’t help. “I’m okay.”

“You’re kind of not,” Parker points out. “I… That was really bad, what happened. Nobody would be okay.”

“It was years ago and I’m fine,” Eliot reiterates, a bit stiffly. It’s really not a conversation he wants to be having with her, not to mention with the whole rest of the team in the room, watching. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“You’re my friend, and I like you,” Parker informs him, breaking eye contact slightly before squaring her jaw and looking back. “It freaks me out that…” She bites her lip. “That was really bad and I wish it hadn’t happened to you.”

Eliot has no idea what to say, but Parker seems done. She lets go of his shirt and takes a deep breath.

“Eliot, how often does this happen?” Nate asks carefully.

He does not want to answer, but Parker’s still trembling lightly, so he does. “Dunno. Every few days. Sometimes more, sometimes less.”

Hardison grimaces, and Sophie intakes a sharp breath. Nate just nods. “Is there anything you can do to lower the odds of it happening again?”

“Nothing I’ve found,” Eliot says, which is honest enough. There’s no reason to admit that he hasn’t tried all that much. There’s no reason to now, either- he knows enough to know that therapy usually makes these things worse before it makes them better, and drugs are always a crapshoot for at least a few weeks. The auction’s in two days, and they’ll be interrogating the anthropologist after that. There’s not enough time for him to do anything to reduce the likelihood of symptoms.

“Is it always that bad?” Sophie asks.

“No, but sometimes it’s worse,” Eliot replies honestly.

Sophie sighs. “All right.”

“Does anybody need a change of plans, or can you all make it at least through Sunday?” Hardison asks.

“Remember, no guarantee that the anthropologist is any help at all,” Nate grumbles. “Could be longer. Is everyone still okay with the timeline?”

Parker shrugs. “There aren’t any better plans.”

“I’ll be fine,” Eliot grunts. “Worse from her end.” Parker makes a doubting face, but doesn’t say anything.

“It’s becoming increasingly obvious that you’ve both been through worse, yes,” Sophie interrupts softly. “But there’s no reason you should go through this too, if there’s another option. You three stay here, discuss it. Nate, downstairs with me.” With that, she takes their sandwiches from Eliot and drags Nate out of the room with a head tilt and a stern facial expression.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments make my day :D and I so, so appreciate all the ones I've gotten so far.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some non-explicit discussion of dubcon. 
> 
> Also, this is not my favorite chapter, so sorry, hope you enjoy it anyway.

Parker paces. There are old instincts telling her to run, and though they’re quiet enough to be easily ignored, it helps to move. Hardison is openly watching her worriedly. Eliot is eating his sandwich and trying to pretend that he is not also watching her worriedly. She’s not ready to eat yet, not settled enough. She’s not sure how Eliot can do it. He’s not settled either.

“Am I being stupid?” she finally demands, whirling on Hardison.

“No,” Hardison tells her firmly. “Also, what do you mean?”

“The sex thing,” she tells him, and his eyebrows go up. Eliot doesn’t look like he reacts, but she feels a rush of something shaky in his head. She ignores both reactions. “I’m a hundred percent sure that having sex with Eliot is not as bad as getting tortured. Even second-hand.”

“That’s a compliment,” Hardison tells Eliot. “She would not say that about most people.” He redirects and looks back at Parker. “Whoa, Mama. Hold up. You didn’t become comfortable with the idea of this in the past few hours.”

Parker shrugs. “Yeah, I know. But this sucks. And we could stop it, like, whenever.”

Hardison hesitates, and she can’t tell what he’s thinking. When he speaks, it’s calm. “Well, it’s your call, both of you. I’ll back your play. But I don’t want you to feel pressured to do something you don’t wanna do. If y’all need this over, we can try to strong-arm Nate into letting us interrogate the doctor early. Sophie’ll back us up, if we need to.”

That’s a good point. Parker considers it for a long moment. “Okay. It’ll probably mess up the con, and Nate’s right, we don’t know if it’ll work. We know how to end this.”

Hardison protests, “We don’t know anything for sure, I’m not-”

“You’re pretty sure,” Parker interrupts.

“Yeah, but pretty sure isn’t good enough for something like this. It’d really suck if y’all went through with it and I was wrong,” Hardison says.

Parker gets why he’s worried about it, but she doesn’t think she’s ever seen Hardison be wrong, not about something like this.

“I don’t think you’re wrong,” Parker tells him. “And I’m just trying to think about it logically.”

“I admire that, I do, but we are talking about a pair of ancient magic cups that are trying to coerce you and Eliot into boinking because it thinks you’re married, so we may be a little outside logic’s area here,” Hardison tells her. “Like I said, I’ll back your play, whatever it is, but you don’t gotta do nothing.”

Parker likes him, likes him trying to protect her, but she doesn’t think he can, here.

“I’m pretty sure what I just got isn’t the worst thing that’s in Eliot’s head. And what he got earlier is definitely not the worst thing in mine,” Parker says. “And I don’t want to have sex just because it’s better than all my other options, but also I’m pretty sure it’s better than all our other options.”

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to do that,” Hardison tells her, softly. “I don’t want you to be in that situation again, where you feel like you have to do something you don’t want to do because of what might happen otherwise. If you don’t want this…”

Parker makes a face. She’s not sure how to explain this to them, if they don’t get it already. “I don’t like that the cups are pushing it, and I don’t like that the consequences of not doing it are scary. But that’s all. It’s- I’d maybe have sex with Eliot under other circumstances. I like him, I trust him. And he’s really pretty.”

Half of Eliot’s sandwich falls out of his hand and he gives Hardison an alarmed look.

Hardison just shrugs. “I ain’t offended. You are pretty. Them’s just objective facts.” He turns back to Parker and asks, very softly, “Okay. But context matters, and if this ain’t the right time, the right circumstance, that’s okay, and we’ll do what we can. This ain’t on you to fix.” 

“I know,” Parker says. “I haven’t decided, I just don’t know if it’s smart to rule anything out.”

Hardison blows out a deep breath. “What do you think, Eliot? Thoughts on the nookie?”

“Dude, don’t call it that,” Eliot groans. “I can deal either way. It’s Parker’s call. And yours.”

“Nuh-uh, I have no decision-making sway here,” Hardison says, shaking his head.

“You are dating Parker. We are still discussing me sleeping with your girlfriend,” Eliot points out. “That gives you a hand in this.”

“Speaking of which,” Parker says, interrupting as a brilliant idea strikes her. “If this happens, Hardison, would you be willing to be there? To, like, help? To help me not panic?”

“Uh,” Hardison says, eloquently, staring at her. “To clarify, you are asking me to participate in a three-way… for morale?”

She can’t answer for a second, because Eliot has a great deal of feelings, suddenly, and it sort of overloads her. She’s been thinking of his mind as a thundercloud all day, but it hasn’t been like this. It’s electricity, unfettered and uncontrolled for an instant, and the intensity of it sends a shiver down her spine.

And then it’s gone- or, no, not gone, just bricked up, pushed somewhere away from her, where Eliot doesn’t have to think about it.

“Yeah, that’s what I was suggesting,” Parker says. She’s pretty sure her voice doesn’t sound breathless, which is lucky.

“…Huh,” Hardison says, neutrally, but his eyes are wide and locked in on her. “Eliot, is that a deal-breaker for you?”

There’s a brief aftershock, a slower, shuddering kind of interest rolling from Eliot into her, aimed at Hardison. It heats Parker up, from the inside out.

“I’m adaptable,” Eliot mutters. “Not a deal-breaker.” Which doesn’t match what he’s feeling at all. He’s not lying, but he still kind of is, and it’s annoying. No wonder he’s so hard to read.

“Okay. Okay,” Hardison says. “Sure. Yeah, okay. Happy to help? This is not at all where I expected this conversation to go, t’be honest with you.” His eyes are still wide and his breath is coming fast.

“Me neither,” Eliot says, a bit hoarsely.

Parker grins at them both. “This is getting more fun all the time,” she informs them. All four of their eyebrows go up.

The door opens, inconveniently, and Sophie and Nate walk back in.

“Change of plans-” Nate begins, but Sophie cuts him off.

“What is happening here?” she asks, glancing between the three of them. A smirk grows on her face. “We can wait twenty or so minutes to have this conversation if you three need a bit more time to… finish.” Parker doesn’t entirely know what that means.

Hardison says, a bit weakly, “I think I just got disqualified for the role of Mom Friend.”

Eliot flushes and growls, “Nothin’s happening, Sophie, what do you want?”

Sophie looks like she’s resisting the urge to laugh, and Nate looks like he’s resisting the urge to leave.

“Change of plan,” Nate says again. “Sophie and I sell the diadem to King at the auction, meanwhile you three interrogate Dr. Timbrook. Gets it done sooner, and less chance of either job messing with the other. Agreed?”

“Sounds good,” Eliot agrees immediately.

“That does still leave you with tonight and tomorrow attached, at the very minimum,” Sophie points out. “And it seems to be growing at a rapid pace. This is still likely to get worse before it gets better. Are you both all right with that?”

Parker looks away. “The torture thing was bad, but it was only second-hand, and I’ve been through worse. I’ll be okay.”

“Yeah, more or less what she said,” Eliot grumbles, reassembling his sandwich.

Nate says, “Soph thinks that the bond might be mostly transferring pain, trauma.”

They all glance up, looking at Sophie.

“I don’t know that,” she says, raising her hands. “It’s my observation that those experiences and emotions seem to be transmitting the most. And… well, the way that it happened. The first sensation that Eliot experienced was severe isolation, marked enough that he felt the need to comment on it.” Sophie hesitates, then asks, “Parker, what did you experience the first time you touched the cup?”

“I felt bad,” Parker says flatly.

“Tell me more,” Sophie prods. “Can you be more specific?”

Parker shakes her head. “No, I don’t know why. I just felt _bad_.”

“Alone? Scared? Angry?”

Parker shakes her head again, searches for words, and doesn’t find them. “I felt bad,” she says again, frustrated.

Hardison glances at her, with a look of sudden, terrible suspicion. “Parker, you sayin’ that the way you felt was bad, or that you felt like _you_ were bad?”

Parker nods. “The second one. I mean, both, but mostly the second one.”

“Oh,” Sophie says softly. She glances at Eliot, who is staunchly not making eye contact with anyone. “Right, then. Right out of the gate, Eliot felt isolated, and Parker felt an acute sense of shame. If I were the sort of person who believed in portents- and I might be, today- that’s hardly a reassuring one.”

“Yeah, that’s not good,” Nate observes into his glass of whiskey. “Hang on until Sunday, and we won’t take any more cases until it’s reversed. Does that work for everyone?” There are nods all around.

“I’m sorry this conversation was so much less exciting than whatever it was you were discussing before,” Sophie says, a bit wickedly.

“I don’t want to know,” Nate says immediately. “I don’t ever want to know.”

“A contingency plan is in place,” Parker says serenely, finally picking up her now-cold meatball sandwich. “But we’ll stick with Plan A for now.”

* * *

Eliot leaves rather abruptly, ostensibly to go check on the salmon he’s smoking, but probably just to leave the situation. Hardison respects that, after everything that’s gone down today.

Parker eats her sandwich and then curls up next to him, calm and done pacing, at least for the moment. Nate and Sophie sit near them for a long time, hovering slightly. As it is technically Nate’s apartment, and Hardison’s pretty sure that Sophie sticks around more nights than not, now, he eventually points out to Parker that they should probably get going.

Parker hesitates and then nods, and they make their goodbyes. She lingers next to Hardison in the parking lot of McRory’s.

“What is it, Mama?” he asks her softly.

Parker shrugs, awkwardly, not making eye contact. “I’m probably gonna have bad dreams tonight. …And I’m probably not the only one.”

“A’ight. You want to come home with me?” Hardison offers.

“You were up translating all last night,” Parker points out. “I don’t want to…”

Hardison grins at her. “I pull all-nighters all the time. Part of the job. C’mon, I got you.”

Parker nods and leans into him again. He wraps her up, holding her for the thirtyish seconds she wants that before pulling away and climbing into the passenger seat of Lucille.

The drive back to his apartment is quiet. At one point, Hardison glances over to find her eyes closed and a sweet half-smile on her face.

“What’re you thinking about?” he asks.

“Not me. Eliot’s cooking. His brain is nicer when he cooks,” Parker responds distantly.

“Yeah? Tell him to save me some,” Hardison suggests.

There’s a pause, and then Parker giggles. “He says no, but I think he will anyway. He likes you more than he pretends to.”

“Yeah, I know,” Hardison says, pulling into the lot of his apartment building and grinning a bit. And he had known, of course, but it’s still kind of heartwarming to have the confirmation.

They go inside, getting the usual stink-eye from Hardison’s ancient and probably racist neighbor- he just grins widely in response, because that only pisses her off more- and wraps an arm loosely around Parker’s waist. She leans into him and picks the lock to his apartment with a bobby pin before he can even reach for his keys.

“Man, I have got to upgrade,” Hardison mumbles, letting her push him inside.

“You really should. A quadriplegic could pick that lock,” Parker tells him, and then shuts the door, pushes him against it, and kisses him fiercely.

Hardison groans, immediately, and- yeah, okay, so the whole discussion of a possible three-way may have impacted him a little more than is morally acceptable, given the circumstances, and he’s a little guilty about it but also, holy hell, how could anyone be expected to maintain their composure with that mental image-

“Stop thinking so much,” Parker whispers, efficiently stripping her shirt off, which does a remarkable amount to cut off his brain.

“Damn, woman,” he tells her breathlessly. “God, you look good.”

“Thanks!” Parker tells him brightly, her clever hands moving to his scarf and peeling it off. “You too.”

Hardison puts his hands on her waist and kisses her again. “You wanna do this?”

“Yep. You?”

“I can pretty much always be talked into it,” Hardison tells her. She gets a wicked look on her face and he immediately regrets the challenge. “Uh, babe. Whatever you’re thinking. No.”

“I have lots of thoughts,” Parker breathes, and Hardison is both very concerned by that and very unable to think more than thirty minutes in front of him. It’ll have to wait. Parker’s busily pulling his shirt off, and that is clearly the priority here.

Once she’s succeeded, Parker grabs his shoulders and wraps her legs around his waist. He catches her carefully and carries her farther into the apartment, only half-paying attention to make sure he doesn’t trip over anything, most of his focus on Parker’s skin under his hands and her mouth on his collarbone.

“Time out,” she says, calmly. He puts her down gently and takes a step back, taking deep breaths. It’s not the safeword, and she’s not freaking out, but he’s not the sort of asshole who ignores any kind of request for space, which is particularly relevant when those sorts of assholes tend to get stabbed.  

“What’s up?” Hardison asks when he has air back.

“Eliot is requesting that we please postpone this until he’s not riding along,” Parker informs him.

The phrasing of that derails Hardison for another second, but he pushes the mental image off until later- what he thinks about is still in the privacy of his own head, thank God- and laughs a little.

“Did he just get an eyeful? …Brainful?” Hardison asks.

Parker nods. “Yep. Also the stuff I was thinking about for later. He’s acting like he’s really unhappy about it, but he’s at least kind of lying.”

Which is interesting, but Hardison decides it’s probably best for his personal safety if he doesn’t ask. “Okay. Tell him I’m sorry for the… sexual harassment? We are coworkers, sort of. Involuntary porn?”

“That wasn’t porn,” Parker says dismissively. “We could do way better. You’re forgiven, but he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. He’s going to go cook some more.”

“Okay,” Hardison says. “Uh, about that.” Because they are dating, and he needs to be honest, and he does not keep secrets from her. He keeps that in his head like a mantra and says, “The idea about… me assisting, with you and Eliot.”

Parker blinks, tilts her head. “Are you not okay with it anymore?”

“Uh, no. No, the thing is. You know how… a significant portion of my dating history is men?”

She nods. “Yeah, you told me.”

“And how Eliot is… very pretty?” Hardison says, which is probably not how Eliot would like to be referred to, but he speaks enough Parker to know how to translate.

Parker nods, her eyes sparkling mischievously, which is possibly a good sign.

“Right, so- and I’d prefer you not broadcast this his way, if you’ve got a choice in the matter-” Hardison takes a breath, considers his words carefully. “I’m not cool with this, because both of you are being pushed into it, and that’s not okay. I’d prefer nothing go down, not this way. I’ll back your play, whatever it is, but I don’t particularly like it. But in other circumstances, with Eliot? I’d definitely consider it. And the both of you? Kinda breaks my brain a little, but hell, yeah. It’s possible the thought’s entered my mind a few times.”

“Okay. Cool,” Parker tells him, smirking dangerously and sounding not at all bothered by this revelation. He supposes that she did make a similar one earlier. So they’ve both been harboring sexual interest in the same teammate. Well, he supposes couples should have shared hobbies.

It occurs to Hardison that this knowledge could mess up… really any of the relationships between the three of them, but he honestly feels like they’re all pretty rock-solid, so he’s not overly stressed about it.

“I am going to go take a cold shower,” Parker announces. “You do… whatever you want, because you don’t have a brain-voyeur.” She pouts a little and swings off. God, but he loves that woman.

They reconvene fifteen minutes later in bed, where Hardison has to steal back his pillow because she’s wrapped herself around it.

“I’m gonna have bad dreams,” she reminds him quietly. “Sorry.”

“Nah, babe, it’s okay. Feel free to wake me up. Whatever you need to do,” he tells her, and she curls into him instead and nods, sleepily, the water from her hair soaking into his t-shirt.

“Night,” Parker tells him, and is out like a light.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last high-angst chapter- it eases off from here. 
> 
> This chapter contains nightmare sequences. Warnings for child death and implied violence.

Eliot’s not sure where he is, or why he’s there.

His mind isn’t working properly, isn’t filling in the gaps, but he’s okay with that. It’s supposed to be like that, here- it all makes sense, that it doesn’t make sense.

He’s standing in the yard of a quiet suburban neighborhood. There’s a little girl- seven, maybe, though he’s not great at estimating child ages- playing in a sandbox. A little boy- five-ish- is unsteadily riding a small bicycle about twenty yards away on the driveway. It’s quiet.

“You can’t change it,” the girl says, matter-of-factly, knocking over a sand tower. “I know you’ll want to, but you can’t.”

Eliot looks at her. “What do you mean?”

The girl looks up at him, and he knows her, but he can’t remember. She doesn’t answer, just looks back down at her sand and says, “I don’t know what I’m building. I don’t remember that part.”

“Do you need help?” Eliot asks, floundering a little. Something is wrong. He knows something is wrong, he just can’t remember what it is.

“There’s nothing you can do,” the girl repeats. She nods up, gesturing back at the house. A man’s just walked out of it, stumbling a little. “That’s my uncle. He’s always drunk. And he never looks.”

Eliot still can’t quite grasp what’s happening- it’s just a little out of his grasp- but he thinks he hates the uncle. This is validated when he meanders toward a car, unsteadily climbing in.

“In four months, I’m going to blow this house up,” the girl says matter-of-factly, “and I’ll think that means I’ll never have to see it again.” She sighs and looks up at the house, adding, “Obviously, I’ll be wrong.”

And he remembers, somewhere, in the back of his mind. “Parker,” he says, realizing, and suddenly she is, the Parker he knows, standing beside him. He hears the car start, and he knows. The boy on the bike. “Oh, god.”

“You can’t change it,” Parker says again. “I can’t, either. I missed my chance. It already happened, and I didn’t even move. I didn’t even try. It’s already done, just like this.” The car is moving and the boy is pedaling and there’s nothing Eliot wants more than to charge out and scoop the kid out of the way, but Parker’s right, he knows she is, there’s nothing, it’s already decades too late, there’s nothing…

“Parker, you’re having a nightmare,” he tells her breathlessly.

She blinks at him. “Yeah, obviously.”

The car is getting closer to the kid on the bike.

“Parker, you don’t have to watch. You can look away. You don’t have to watch again,” Eliot tells her.

Parker tilts her head. “What’s the point?”

The car is inches away, and he doesn’t have time to do anything but grab Parker and wrap his arms around her, folding her head against his neck so she can’t see. If nothing else, she won’t see it again. Eliot shuts his eyes as the car hits.

The sound is awful, squealing of metal on metal on concrete, and then the screaming starts.

“It doesn’t end that quickly,” Parker says into his neck. He thinks that the kid version of her might be back, thinks she might be one of the voices, howling, but he doesn’t look up. “I’ll wake up, soon, but it goes on for days.”

“Parker, wake up now,” he begs her, and they both do.

Eliot wakes up in the dark, momentarily confused before he recognizes the still-anonymous room he’s been sleeping in for nearly three years. His breath is unsteady and there are tears in his eyes. He tentatively reaches out for Parker’s mind and finds her quiet and apologetic. She doesn’t want to think about it. She tells him to go back to sleep.

It’s a long time before either of them does. Parker drifts off first, leaving him alone in his head for the first time today. It’s not the relief he might have guessed it’d be. He feels remarkably alone.

Eventually, though, his exhaustion creeps up again and he drifts and

And

And

And Eliot’s standing in the sort of awful dark room he’s been in too many times before, with a knife in his hand, and it’s all so familiar that it chokes him. He is what he is, he supposes, but he doesn’t want this, doesn’t want to be here, doesn’t want what’s about to happen.

Sophie’s in the chair, hands bound to the slats, and she’s sweet-talking with him in words he can’t catch. She’s trying to persuade him, but from the terror in her eyes, she knows she can’t, she knows it’s far, far too late to change him. He lifts the knife and she flinches away, trying to postpone the inevitable. He wishes he could apologize.

“Eliot,” Parker says from behind him, and he turns, because this is different. She’s not tied. She has to go, now, before he gets new orders- the warning catches in his throat. His boss wouldn’t approve. “Eliot, put the knife down.”

“Yeah, do what she says,” Nate says weakly from the chair, his eyes trained on the blade. Eliot wishes he could, more than anything, but he has orders and it’s too late, too late, too late for him to be anything other than what he is. And he wishes he could save Nate, he does, he’d do anything, but he has orders and his hand is moving-

“Eliot, stop,” Parker says, sounding confused. “You wouldn’t do that.” She pauses, then adds, “You’re having a nightmare, do you know that?”

The words won’t sink in. People have called it a nightmare before. Eliot turns back to the chair.

Oh, god, no, not this, anything but this.

Hardison’s tied to the chair, eyes darting back and forth, looking for an exit. “Eliot, man,” he pleads, but there’s nothing he can say that will change a thing. Hardison, who has never been anything but gentle and kind, but there’s no turning back the clock. It’s his job, he has orders. He doesn’t want to, he’s never wanted to, but he always has, and it’s too late for anything else. The knife twitches.

“Eliot,” Parker says again. Now she just sounds annoyed. Eliot wishes she’d run. “You are having a dream. Hardison’s fine. You can wake up.” 

He turns back and it’s too late, Parker’s in the chair, thrashing but tied securely. She can’t break free.

“Eliot,” says the first Parker, the free one. “Eliot, you don’t want to do this.”

“I’m sorry,” he tells her, and his throat twists the words until they come out scratchy and broken.

“So don’t do it,” she says. “Wake up.”

“It’s too late,” he tells her. “This is who I am.”

“No, it’s not,” she replies, and now she’s horrified, but there’s nothing he can do, she’s already seen, she must know, and he has a job to do.

He turns back and the relief hits him hard, because this- he can do this. This will fix everything.

Eliot barely recognizes the kid in the chair, it’s just blue eyes, a military haircut, and an expression of stubbornness layered over terror. He’s a teenager, young and stupid. He still thinks that courage means accepting every challenge in front of him, no matter what it is. Right now, it’s the only dangerous thing about him. That won’t be true for much longer.

But he can be stopped, still, it can all be undone, and Eliot feels nothing but relief as he raises the knife.

“Whoa!” Parker yells, throwing herself between them. “Eliot, stop! Wake up!” She grabs his arm, and he doesn’t understand why she won’t run, why she won’t get away while she still can. “Wake up!” she shouts again. “This isn’t real!”

He doesn’t struggle, doesn’t want to hurt her, but when he looks at his hand, the knife’s gone. He looks back at Parker, and she’s sharp and present and horrified at him in a way that he doesn’t understand. How can she not know?

“Wake up!” she tells him again, and it doesn’t make sense, but the chair’s empty when he glances back. The room’s fuzzy. He can’t remember who hired him to be here, can’t remember why he’s here, and then he can’t make it out at all. There’s nothing but Parker, who is still yelling at him, and then it’s over.

* * *

Parker jerks awake abruptly, kicking Hardison in the process, and squints into the darkness trying to make out what the hell just happened.

“Parker?” Hardison asks, voice all fuzzy from the sleep. “You all right?”

“Yeah,” Parker says. “Eliot’s nightmares are kind of messed up.”

“I’m not all that surprised,” Hardison says, sitting up and reaching for a lamp. She catches his hand before he gets there.

“I think you would be, actually,” she says thoughtfully. “It was fine, it wasn’t a big deal. I think it freaked him out a lot, though. That it happened, and that I saw it.”

“Nightmares are pretty personal,” Hardison agrees. “But it wasn’t anything awful?”

Parker shrugs. “It’s imaginary. It’s only bad for him because he forgets that. Never mind, I want to get some more sleep. Roll over.”

* * *

Parker’s awake well before Eliot is, which she’s pretty sure is weird, although she did fall back asleep after that last dream pretty quickly and he was probably up feeling guilty about it for a while. That’s what he was doing when she drifted off.

So she gets up, quietly, without disturbing Hardison, leaves, and methodically breaks into Eliot’s apartment. He doesn’t have any cereal, but he does have some excellent leftovers.

Parker always assumed that Eliot was like her. She’s broken- she has been for a long time, probably always will be, and has more or less made her peace with it. She’s not normal. Sometimes, the broken bits of her hurt her, or hurt other people, or stop her from being able to have things she wants.  She’s done things she wishes she hadn’t, and sometimes she doesn’t even know how to do the right thing. She’s surrounded by good people and it sometimes makes her feel like she’s just faking it, maybe even faking at being a person. And Eliot’s better at some of it than she is, but she always thought they were more or less the same. She thought it was like this for him too, and probably a lot of it is the same, but some of it is different. Some of it is worse.

She feels him wake up, the thundercloud in her head rolling to life, and smiles a little. She waits quietly, sitting on his counter.

Eventually Eliot walks out and rolls his eyes at her, apparently not surprised to find her unexpectedly in his kitchen. “Morning. …Sorry, about the nightmare. It was… I’d never do anything like that to you, any of you, you know that?”

“Duh. You just stood there holding a knife and looking kind of constipated. I’m not bothered,” Parker replies. “But I know you are.”

Eliot looks away. “Glad you’re fine. You wanna go home now?”

“Eliot, do you still think you’re bad?”

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. His mind answers for him before he has time to deflect.

“You’re not,” Parker tells him. “I’ve known lots of bad people. And I know you. I’d know if you were bad, and everything would be different.”

“Uh, thanks,” Eliot says. “Parker, I don’t want to talk about it.”

She frowns at him. “I like you. And it makes me sad that you don’t.”

Something in him breaks open, a little- she feels it- and he says quietly, “You don’t know what I’ve done, Parker.”

“You told me not to ask you. And I won’t, not ever. But if you need to tell someone, you can tell me, and I won’t think of you any differently,” she promises him. He knows she’s telling the truth, but still doesn’t believe her. “I don’t care. I know who you are now.”

Eliot stares at her for a long moment, and she can feel him wanting to believe her and not letting himself. Parker’s done that, spent months doing that, and she doesn’t know how to make him stop.

Parker gets up, walks over to him, and wraps her arms around him fiercely. He stands stiffly, adjusting slightly to support her weight as she leans into him.

“Are you going to hug me back?” she asks.

He wants to, but doesn’t, doesn’t because he still thinks of his hands as violent and hesitates to put them on her body. But he knows some of the road it took her to ask, and he won’t deny her. Eliot’s nothing but gentle when he wraps his arms around her, gentle like she’s always known him to be.

So Parker gathers that, gathers up all the bits and pieces of Eliot in her brain. She thinks about how he always protects them, how smart he is even though he mostly pretends he isn’t, the way he always listens to her even though she doesn’t always know how to make sense, the way he looks when he cooks, the sweet way he smiles at Hardison when Hardison’s not looking. She thinks about how he’s the person who understands her the best, the only person she’d ever tell the worst things _she_ ever did. She thinks about the way that he’s growly and prickly but never scary, not to her, that he always lets himself be soft when people really need it, and she knows how hard that is.

Parker gathers it all, bundles it into a mass of affection, and dumps it through the link.

Eliot staggers, slightly, but enough that Parker’s arms tighten around him to keep them both from falling. She can feel him receive it, feel him overwhelmed by it.

“Thanks?” he says, and thinks, _Love you too._ And then he panics slightly at having just thought that, which she ignores. Deciding she’s had wholly enough touching for so early in the morning, she lets him go, patting him on the cheek before returning to the counter.

“This salmon is really yummy,” Parker tells him, stealing another bite. “I’m gonna go now. I just wanted to let you know that it’s okay. You forget, sometimes, that you’re good now, and you didn’t know you were just asleep. It’s okay, I’ll keep remembering.”

And Eliot doesn’t say anything, but she can feel him thinking. He wants to thank her, wants to tell her that he likes her too, and he wants to says something about her brother. It’s the last that gets her moving, stealing a large section of salmon for Hardison and swinging wordlessly out the window. She’s not sure whether she actually hears him chuckling behind her, or if she just feels it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we're halfway through it now. Cheers, everybody, thanks for reading. Let me know what you like and don't like so far! :D


	7. Chapter 7

Eliot needs to not think for a little while, so he goes to the gym. Parker swings by Hardison’s briefly and then he can feel her also going to work out, in the corner of her warehouse that she reserves for it. Despite their completely different fitness priorities, they find themselves syncing up a bit. At some point, they end up in an extended chin-up competition, which she wins after twenty minutes when someone else wants to use Eliot’s bar. There will probably be a rematch at some point. It’s oddly nice, actually, doing this with someone, and he thinks that maybe he and Parker will work out together occasionally when this is over.

They both finish up, and Parker is finishing up her cereal when Eliot knocks on the door, picking her up to take her to Nate’s. He must have some kind of reaction to her dark and oddly musty warehouse, because she makes a face and says, “You basically live in a hotel room.”

Which is true enough. Eliot keeps it clean and functional, but he’s never bothered decorate the place at all, which Hardison bitches about endlessly on the rare occasion that he’s there.

Eliot squints at Parker sharply, as she starts thinking about Hardison’s plan to break in and redecorate the place. Eliot can see a mental image of a hidden drawer filled with paint chips, stolen knickknacks, and framed photos of the team for the project.

“The man better not,” Eliot grumbles, despite being kind of pleased by the thought.

“Hey. You’re like a thundercloud, in my head,” Parker says again as they walk out to his car.

Eliot glances over at her, but she’s still unafraid. “Yeah, you said. Problem?”

“No. I want to know what I’m like in yours,” Parker demands, sliding into Eliot’s car and thinking some disparaging things about its orange color.

“Shut up, this car’s a classic. You’re like… a hummingbird,” Eliot grunts. It comes out a bit like an insult, but they both know that it’s not. “Moves constantly. Do you _ever_ stop thinking?”

“…No, I don’t think so. Do most people?” Parker asks, honestly curious. Eliot grunts.

“Not exactly. You think differently than I do. Kind of distracting,” he tells her. “‘Specially when you had Joy to the World stuck in your head on-loop yesterday. Do that again and I might hafta knock you out.”

“You don’t mean that even a little bit,” Parker says confidently, and he smirks at her.

Most of the rest of the drive is quiet, at least in terms of things exchanged out loud. The connection is stronger than ever now- Eliot’s aware of Parker’s thoughts, feelings, even the way her leg is bouncing up and down absentmindedly. He’s pretty sure it’s enough to drive a sane man crazy, but neither of them is particularly sane and both of them are good at adapting, and the situation is surprisingly fine. It’s abnormal, and a bit dangerous here and there, but it’s almost comfortable in the quiet moments in between.

Eliot drops Parker off at the donut shop a few blocks from McRory’s and proceeds to park and go up.

Hardison’s there- surprisingly, as it’s barely nine, and he still sleeps like a teenager- and has several computer screens up and running. He turns to Eliot and waves. The sunlight gleams off his skin as he smiles sweetly and it catches Eliot’s attention sharply. He tries to blame the thought on Parker before remembering that she is not, in fact, in the room. He trades in the notice for an assessment that Hardison looks far too good for someone who lives at a desk and it is simply unfair to people who work out, and his awareness of it is just disgruntlement. (Parker is aware of this entire train of thought, and definitely laughing at him.)

“Morning. How’re you?” Hardison asks. His tone is mostly casual, but Eliot catches something in it and frowns.

“She told you.”

Hardison raises his hands. “Only that you had a nightmare, and that it was… quote, ‘kinda messed up.’ I know nothing else. You all right?”  

“Yeah, fine,” Eliot growls, in a tone that would alarm most people into shutting the fuck up, but hasn’t actually worked on Hardison in over three years. “Parker’s fine too. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay, man. But let me know if you need anything, a’ight?” Hardison offers gently.

Eliot huffs and sits down. “It’s getting easier,” he says. “Not the big stuff- the nightmares, and- and the flashbacks, that’s probably gonna keep gettin’ worse. But the bits in between are a lot easier now. We’re adapting.”

Hardison nods thoughtfully. “You’re both tough. No doubt. Glad you’re all right.”

Eliot grunts, glances toward one of the computer screens (pointlessly, as it’s just filled with gibberish) and asks, “‘N you?”

“What?” Hardison asks.

Eliot waves a hand at the crate with the cups. “The whole thing is… You and Parker are dating. Seriously. And…”

Hardison chuckles a little. “Nah, man, I’m fine. ‘M not jealous. It’s not like either of you opted into this, and Parker and I aren’t necessarily totally monogamous anyway- not like it’s come up, but there’s been a conversation- and it’s, you know, you.”

“You had a jealous freakout over that one thief- with the jawline and tuxedo- based on one photo,” Eliot points out.

“And you have a better jawline than him, and we have seen you in more tuxedos. Also shirtless. Point, point,” Hardison says, although this was clearly not at all the point Eliot was going for. Hardison shrugs and says, “I knew exactly three things about him: he was unsettlingly hot, yes, and in immediate proximity to an unarmed and solo Parker, and an active bad guy. All in all, not my favorite combo. You’re… y’know, you. Team, family. I trust you, and her too. I ain’t jealous.” He says this staring steadily at Eliot, not blinking, not showing any sign of hesitation. Then he grins, Eliot braces himself for a stupid joke, and Hardison adds, “‘Sides which, sounds like I’m invited to assist any porkin.’ No reason to be jealous of anything I’m spectating.”

Eliot groans, at the same time as Sophie gasps delightedly from the stairs. Eliot groans again, louder.

“Mornin,’ Soph. How long you been eavesdropping?” Hardison asks cheerfully.

“A bit before the mention of Eliot shirtless,” Sophie replies, without a trace of shame. “Is that what you three were having all the sexual tension about last night? The possibility of solving the supernatural affliction with a ménage á trois?”

“Parker’s idea,” Hardison says immediately.

“Naturally,” Sophie says, making her way to the coffee. “An interesting way to direct this situation. I admire the creativity.”

“Hey, now,” Hardison says mildly. “The policy here is maximum support, minimum lech. If I can do it, you can do it.”

Despite trying very hard to pretend that he’s not involved in this conversation, Eliot can’t help but point out, “You referred to it as ‘spectating’ thirty seconds ago.”

“Only so much you can ask of a man,” Hardison replies cheerfully. Eliot immediately retreats to ignoring this conversation entirely.

Sophie’s beaming, and her tone is a bit too close to her grifting voice when she asks, “Hardison, what was the bit about non-monogamy?”

“Oh. Uh, I’ve never really been in a serious relationship before, Parker’s never been in a relationship at all. Seen enough relationships like that implode because people want to explore, try new things, and don’t give themselves any room to do it. Grass is always greener, and all. Hasn’t come up yet, really, but I’m not bothered by the idea, if I was read in first. And I don’t think anyone ever actually told Parker that monogamy’s the norm, so.”

Sophie’s nodding thoughtfully. “Wise. You’re being thoughtful about it.”

“I try,” Hardison says. “No reason- well, we ain’t normal people anyway. Trying to do somethin’ just ‘cause it’s normal would only mess us up.”

Sophie smiles over her coffee. “You’ve given this some thought.” Neither of them rises to whatever sort of bait that is, so Sophie turns to Eliot and asks, “You were both all right last night? I know that nightmares were a concern.”

“Not great. But we’re fine,” Eliot grunts. It says something about what his life is now that this is a safer topic than the one preceding it.

Sophie makes a sympathetic noise. “I certainly wouldn’t want anyone else seeing my nightmares. I can hardly think of anything more private.”

The door opens and Parker walks in, holding several donuts. She hands Hardison one and piles the rest in a pretty pile on a plate, grinning delightedly.

“How are you, Parker?” Sophie asks.

“Good,” Parker asks, without taking her eyes off the donut tower. “Eliot and I didn’t break each other. Did you know he can’t tell when he’s asleep?”

“Most people can’t,” Hardison tells her, amused.

“Really?” Parker asks, genuinely baffled. “But everything’s really different in a dream.”

“I’m not arguing with you, but most people still don’t know,” Hardison tells her. “I don’t. Soph?”

She hums. “I’ve trained myself to have the occasional lucid dream, but no, not primarily.”

“Huh. Weird!”

Eliot raises an eyebrow at her. “So you only have lucid dreams?”

Parker blinks. “You mean, like I know what’s happening and I can do stuff? Sure. I’m mostly always like that.”

“Then why do you even have nightmares?” Eliot asks, a bit grumpily.

“I don’t. I have memories, but there’s nothing I can do about those.” Parker shrugs and picks up a donut. “It’s mostly not a big deal. It was all a lot worse when it actually happened.”

Sophie’s looking more awake and looking slightly wickedly at Parker. Eliot anticipates the comment and turns away to study the stove inconspicuously even before Sophie says, “I heard mention that the three of you are discussing… a straightforward solution to your quandary-”

She’s cut off when Nate, emerging from his bedroom, groans, turns around, walks back in, and slams the door.

Sophie rolls her eyes. “I can’t believe I’m dating a man who went to seminary.”

“Wow, we are not being discreet today,” Hardison points out, sighing.

“I mean, if we did it, they would defit’ly find out,” Parker points out through a mouthful of donut. She swallows and adds, “This is still a job complication, sort of.”

Neither of them thinks of it that way, and never really did from the start, but she’s not lying. Eliot’s basically forgotten the job, other than a complication to what’s happening now. Parker hasn’t- she still remembers what Amy King did to her investors, hasn’t let go of the actual job of bringing her down. Eliot doesn’t care about King anymore, would barely notice if the job was left by the wayside. Parker’s not like that. She’s not as obsessive as Nate, but it would bother her not to bring King down, now. Eliot doesn’t think he knew that about her before.

“I agree. The situation doesn’t necessarily call for discretion,” Sophie says, still looking rather delighted at the gossip. “So, Parker, I also heard that this was your idea.”

Parker squints a bit, and something in Eliot squirms. He has no idea which of them it belongs to. “Yeah,” Parker says, staring fixedly at her donut and tapping a foot. “I want to fix the situation, and that’s the easiest way to do it.”

“Cutting the knot,” Nate says wearily, having reemerged from his room and apparently made his peace with his team discussing a three-way in his living room.

“Considering we weren’t paying attention when we tied it,” Parker says, still staring staunchly at her donut.

Nate nods and descends the stairs. Sophie pours him coffee, and he takes it.

“Worst case scenario, the cups interpret the situation as Hardison being married to the both of you, and includes him on the brain loop,” Nate says.

They all hesitate.

“I’m pretty well-adjusted. You’d be okay,” Hardison says, half-joking.

“Yeah, you wouldn’t hurt us,” Parker says. She throws a glance at Eliot and adds, “Though if you think I think too much, he might kill you.”

“We’d hurt you,” Eliot tells Hardison brusquely. “We’d try not to, but we’ve both lived through things you shouldn’t.”

“I know,” Hardison says. His hands shake a little, but his voice doesn’t waver and he holds steady eye contact with Eliot. “I know I’d never want to go through what either of you have, even just in someone’s head. But I’ve studied the cups, and I don’t think it’s likely to happen. I’ve taken worse risks than some possibly trauma-inducing heels-to-Jesus.”

“Will you stop with the middle school sex euphemisms?” Eliot demands.

“‘Scuse you, that was clearly an old church lady sex euphemism.”

“We’ll ask the anthropologist,” Parker declares, to a derisive eye-roll from Nate. “Hopefully she’ll know another way to fix it, but if not, hopefully she’ll know about that.”

“And if she says it’s a possibility?” Sophie asks carefully.

“He might be willing to take that risk, but I’m not,” Parker says firmly.

“Seconded,” Eliot adds.

Hardison raises an eyebrow. “Okay, I know I’m more soft and delicate than y’all, but you sound awfully convinced of that for people who have been ‘fine’ this whole time.”

Parker shrugs. “He’s been tortured. I’ve been homeless at eleven. We’re already broken, so we’re inoculated.”

“What she’s sayin’ is that you’re more soft and delicate than us,” Eliot says, nodding at Hardison.

“A’ight. That’s… horrifying, a little, but I’m glad you two aren’t doing any major damage to each other,” Hardison says, with a bit of a grimace.

“Is everything okay?” Nate asks. “Do we need to get you in to see the anthropologist now?”

“We’re all right,” Eliot says. It’s true. It’s also true that even Parker’s casual mention of the way she grew up is sending echoes of awful memories through them both. It’s awful, and he didn’t want to know, but if anyone had to, he’s the best person for the job. He tries to block her out, tries to give her some privacy while she finds something else to think about.

Nate makes breakfast- coffee, juice, and a smoothie that is mostly banana and raw egg, a sure sign that he is very hungover- while Sophie busies herself with the paper. Hardison goes back to whatever computer thing he was doing, but keeps glancing over at the rest of them. Parker, when he risks a glance at her, is staring at her arm, looking fascinated.

Apparently there’s a speck of glitter on it, reflecting the light from the fixture above her. To Parker, it looks like a pinprick in her skin is shining sunlight from beneath it, and it fascinates her. She keeps adjusting her arm, catching the light and then losing it, seeing the illusion for what it is, and then going back.

Eliot will never understand that woman. He has no idea how someone could go through what she has and come out the other side with that much quirky joy, that much appreciation for the little things. It’s a bit spectacular, he thinks. He’s reminded pretty frequently that Parker is not like anyone else he’s ever known, but having her in his head makes it that much more intense.

Parker catches the thought, grins at him, walks over and very carefully transfers the speck of glitter from her arm to the back of his hand. It does look a bit like sunlight.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for non-explicit violence, although if you've made it this far, it's probably fine.

Hardison goes back to his computer. There’s nothing he can do and he knows it, but he’s never been good at sitting still, so he keeps hacking into the servers of every museum and university that’s had the cups since they’ve been uncovered and looking into every professional who would have had access to them. Maybe, if there’s an irregularity…

Actually.

“Hey, shouldn’t this have happened to other people?” Hardison asks aloud. Everyone looks at him.

“That’s a good point,” Nate says slowly. “All they did was touch it, so there’ve got to be other incidents. Probably a lot of them.”

“Well, there’s no record of that. Not anywhere I’ve checked,” Hardison says. “Not that people would typically put ‘Hey, FYI, cups may cause vicarious trauma and possibly some unexpected pelvic pinochle’ on their website.”

“Huh,” Nate says, and begins doing his Serious Mastermind Squint in hopes of coming up with a brilliant idea. Hardison leaves him to it.

“Pelvic pinochle? Seriously?” Eliot asks grumpily. Hardison grins at him. “Have you been researching increasingly ridiculous euphemisms?”

“Yep,” Hardison says. “It turns out that ‘hiding the Nazi’ is considered a sex euphemism. I don’t know who would describe their dick as a Nazi, but I for one wouldn’t fuck them.” He doesn’t realize it’s a Hint of Queer until after he’s already said it, but other than a slight smirk from Sophie, no one seems to pick up on it.

“Parker, does he do this to you?” Eliot demands.

“Nope, it’s for you,” Parker responds promptly. “Although it’s helpful. Every time he says a new one, like three conversations with creepy dudes suddenly make sense.”

“Typically if a creepy man is saying confusing things to you, it is safe to assume that he is hitting on you, yes,” Sophie says, nodding.

“And there’s no mention or hint of anything weird happening in any of the records? Did you try cross-referencing employees with medical records, in case anyone thought it was psychiatric?” Nate asks.

“No records anywhere, and I’ve checked all kinds of things,” Hardison says patiently. One of these days, this group of very smart people are going to figure out that he is, in fact, very good at his job.

“Huh,” Nate says again, but the Serious Mastermind Squint drops into his regular hangover squint. “Could mean the anthropologist doesn’t know about it.”  

Which is true, and something Hardison is trying not to think about, because they only have one backup plan and-

When he glances over, Parker’s knuckles are white and Eliot’s mouth is tense.

“If nothing else, she should have some idea where to look. We’ll come up with another plan. We always do,” Hardison says stubbornly. Nate nods, but doesn’t look terribly convinced.

Hardison’s not entirely convinced himself. He’s good at a lot of things, a whole lot of things, but he’s never fought the supernatural before, and there are no manuals or YouTube instruction videos to teach him how. He’s going blind, armed with nothing but some ones and zeroes and a stubborn commitment to _not making them do this_. He won’t be complicit in coercing the people he loves into something they don’t want, not if he has any choice. That last part’s the problem.

Parker’s a bit more relaxed, but Eliot’s still tense.

“By the way, E, your salmon was delicious. But I need more. I burned most of it,” Hardison says casually.

“…How?”

“Tried to put it in scrambled eggs, and then got distracted by a code error in one of my programs,” Hardison replies promptly. “Set off the fire alarm. Man, my racist neighbor is gonna hate me even more now.”

“…Dammit, Hardison!” Eliot says, exasperated.

Parker giggles. “That was really interesting.” She’s pretty clearly not referring to Hardison’s cooking skills, just grinning slyly at Eliot.

Eliot points at her. “Knock it off. Privacy, Parker.” It could be Hardison’s imagination, but he suspects that Eliot is slightly pink.

“I can’t,” Parker points out. “It’s in my head too. And there’s a lot of it.”

“ _Stop_ ,” Eliot says again, sounding aggrieved, but the tension in his mouth is gone. Hardison doesn’t really know what’s going on, but mission accomplished. He might even get more salmon.

It gets quiet for a while after that. Occasionally, Eliot or Parker will make faces or make some comment addressing something that’s only gone on between the two of them. It is, Hardison decides, oddly charming.

Eventually, Nate sends Parker to steal the tickets for the auction tomorrow morning, and Eliot trails after her for no reason that Hardison can discern. The three of them are quiet for a while. Hardison keeps searching for information on the cups in increasingly unlikely places, and if he finds something useful now it’ll amaze him, but-

But he’s not good at being idle on the best of days, and this isn’t.

Sophie gently sets a cup of tea beside him, lingering and giving him a meaningful look. Hardison does not like tea, which Sophie knows but refuses to accept, and keeps buying new teas to force him to try and dislike. He takes a sip just to get the interaction over with, makes a face- this particular astringent leaf juice tastes like watered-down lawn clippings after three weeks in the sun- and washes out the taste with orange soda. 

“Hardison, you’ve been attached to your screen since this happened. More so than usual,” Sophie says quietly. “Are you all right?”

Hardison turns toward her and raises an eyebrow. “Me? Sure.”

“It’s clear that you’re worried,” Sophie says. “You didn’t sleep the night before last, and I doubt you slept much last night either.”

Which is true- he’d spent most of the night forcing himself awake at the slightest stimulus, in case it was Parker with a nightmare, and as a result only slept shallowly in short increments. It’s been a long few days.

“I know neither of them has figured out how much you do to protect them, but I have,” Sophie tells him, conspiratorially. Nate, who is behind her and trying to sneakily pour bourbon into his coffee, smirks fondly at the tone.

“‘Preciate the props, but I haven’t really done a damn thing,” Hardison points out. “What if the anthropologist doesn’t know how to fix it? Then what, huh?”

“That’s up to them,” Sophie points out.

And he knows that, knows that it has to be their choice, because it’s their bodies and their privacy and their trauma, but he hates it. He hates that they’re being pushed into it, that he can’t help them out, that they will take the pragmatic approach even if they hate it, and that’s just-

“They won’t ask for our help to avoid it,” he tells Sophie. “Even though it’s awful. They have a solution, and they’ll take it before they’d… I dunno, _inconvenience_ us. Feel like a problem, feel weak? They won’t ask for help.”

Sophie pats his shoulder. “Fortunately for them, they don’t have to,” she says.

“This is awful. Neither of them volunteered for this,” Hardison tells her.

Sophie nods. “That’s generally true with these supernatural things. One day, maybe I’ll tell you about Cairo.” She shudders lightly. “There’s a reason the people in power stay there with money and strategy rather than magic. It burns you. Honestly, I’ve never seen anyone handle a curse better than they are.”

And Hardison knows that they’re handling it. He knows they’re tough. He knows they’ve both survived much worse. Still, though, he hates the thought of either of them going through this, too.

“They’re going to be okay. Even worst case scenario, they’re going to be okay,” Sophie tells him. Hardison isn’t sure that’s good enough, but hearing it soothes him a bit, and he nods. Sophie grins and adds, “Besides which, worst case scenario involves a three-way with two very attractive people, so silver lining, right?”

Hardison grins at her. It’s an obvious joke, and not the sort of joke Sophie makes. It’s the sort of joke Hardison makes to reduce tension. Sophie’s pretty clearly doing it for that reason, and for his benefit. (She is also possibly doing it for the face that Nate makes in the background.)

“Definitely,” he tells her, mock-seriously. “Though they are _extremely_ athletic people. I have a regular-person body. They might kill me. I might die.”

“I can think of worse ways to go,” Sophie says. (Nate, behind her, appears to be suffering immensely.)

“I hate that I even have to say this,” Nate says, already sounding pained, “but if this happens, it _does not happen in my apartment._ ”

Hardison snorts. “Hey, that would probably convince you to replace the couch.”

“Ooh, could you defile the ottoman in his room, while you’re at it? I hate that hideous thing,” Sophie requests.

“I’ll make a note,” Hardison promises. Nate groans half-heartedly, and Sophie and Hardison exchange quiet grins. Hardison still turns back to his computer when the moment passes, but he feels a little less dread when he does it.

* * *

Their brains are getting weirder, but Parker’s also getting used to it, so that’s something.

The drive is quiet-ish- they don’t talk, but they don’t really have to, and thoughts bounce back and forth between the two of them anyway.

Parker slips the auction tickets from their owners’ pockets to her own while Eliot casually watches for trouble- there isn’t any, of course, the charming old museum-going rich people have probably only ever seen crime on TV- and they walk off. It’s all easy.

They use a low-traffic hallway back out of the museum. Nate and Sophie will be here tomorrow morning, finishing their job on King, but Parker will probably never come back. It’s a bummer- she hates being in museums she’ll never steal from.

“Somethin’ wrong with you,” Eliot mutters, fondly. She grins at him.

A few seconds later, a Eliot spots a painting- medieval, murder scene- and can’t stop his brain before-

Parker inhales sharply as the man’s face pops into her head, and she watches him die in the vivid split second before Eliot can brick it up again. It’s sharper than the memories before. She can almost feel the blood burning on her skin.

“Sorry,” he gasps, and she can feel how mad he is at himself. “Sorry.” It’s a little off-putting, the contrast between how upset he is about it now and the cold hollow absence that sits behind the memory.

“No,” Parker tells him, shaking her head. “No, I knew him, he-” She can’t explain, so she goes for the memory- _gun in her face bruised ribs sneering how fast do you think you are?_ \- “I knew him. I didn’t like him. I didn’t expect his face. I’m not mad.”

Eliot blinks, absorbing the memory, and the utter shaking fear she knows came with it. “Okay,” he says slowly.

“Don’t be sorry,” Parker tells him. “He was awful.”

It doesn’t make Eliot feel any better about killing him, but it does make him feel better about Parker seeing it, so that’s something. The guilt recedes somewhat, for now, and Parker rocks into his shoulder.

“Hey, which one of us is craving gelato?” she asks.

“…I dunno, but now I definitely want some,” Eliot says. Parker nods in agreement. “C’mon, I know a place.”

The drive is silent, less comfortable than the drive there. It takes Eliot time to push the memory of that kill away again, more time to stop worrying about what else he’ll make her see- _they weren’t all awful_ , he thinks, and she catches it. Parker’s pretty sure that nothing in his head will make her think of him differently, and he’s pretty sure that that isn’t true.  He really wishes he could put more distance between them. Neither of them can, now.

They stop for gelato at a little hole-in-the-wall joint that is in no way convenient to McRory’s. The owner knows Eliot, and the two exchange a few brisk greetings in Italian. Parker does not speak Italian, but understands the conversation anyway, which is bizarre and kind of fun. She wonders if she can make Eliot teach her before they get rid of this and if it’s easier to learn brain-to-brain than in regular ways. He rolls his eyes at her before plucking her order out of her brain and paying.

Like all food places chosen by Eliot, she expects that the gelato will be delicious, but will obligate her to listen to his long-winded explanation of why this gelato is the best gelato in Boston and all other gelatos are inferior. This time, he catches her (apparently very loud) boredom about fifteen seconds in and cuts himself off, rolling his eyes at her.

“They use the best ingredients, take their time,” he grumbles, summarizing what would usually be a three-minute monologue against the cheapness and impatience that creates lesser foods, and probably insulting Hardison for no clear reason. Eliot catches this line of thought and groans. “Shut up.”

Parker beams at him and takes a bite. “This is the best gelato I’ve ever had,” she informs him, nodding emphatically. His mouth twitches in that way that isn’t really a smile but might as well be anyway. She squints over to the counter, where the old Italian shopkeeper is smiling cutely at them. “Uh?” she asks, directing Eliot’s direction in that area.

Eliot turns rather pink. “She thinks we’re on a date,” he mutters. He’s only come here alone, before, and the last time she’d commented that he’s too sweet a young man not to have a nice girl. He would never admit this out loud, but it goes through the link anyway.

Parker giggles. “That’s okay. You’re nice, and pretty, so I’m not offended. You shouldn’t be offended either.”

The comment hits Eliot weirdly, for reasons Parker can’t quite figure out, and he hesitates. “Parker, you’re in love with Hardison,” he finally tells her.

Parker blinks at him. “Am I? I kind of thought so, but I’ve never done it before, so it’s hard to be sure. Thanks.”

She’s missed something, but she doesn’t know what. Eliot tries again. “This isn’t a date.”

“I know? This is post-theft food,” Parker says, squinting at him. “Are you being weird because I called you nice and pretty? You are. Hardison thinks so too. Nobody’s, like, mad.”

“Okay, sure,” Eliot says slowly, and she can feel him very much wishing he could change his mind about this conversation, “but it could kinda come across like flirting.”

Parker tries to get through what he’s saying, and can’t. Even the insides of his brain don’t really help. “I don’t know how to flirt. Sophie still has to walk me through it.” He should know that, he’s usually on the comms too when it happens. “What are you saying?”

Eliot sighs at her, and she can feel how his stomach is getting all tight in hers too. “Never mind. Hardison says that you and him are doin’ fine, so it’s none of my business.”

Parker thinks she might get it, a little. Eliot’s worried that something between them is going to hurt Hardison. Eliot, she is noticing, worries about hurting her and Hardison kind of a lot, separately and together.

“We are,” Parker says slowly, trying to pick the right words. She is no good at that. “We’ve talked about lots of stuff, what’s okay and what isn’t. Mostly so I don’t freak out and stab him, I think, at least at first, but it goes both ways. We try to be good to each other, and I’m sure that nothing here is going to hurt him. Is that what you were talking about?”

Eliot nods and she can feel the relief that he’s not expected to explain any further.

Parker’s relieved too, because she’s not good at understanding people most of the time. A lot of the time, stuff that seems obvious to everyone else makes no sense at all to her, like opening a Glenreader ’89, but in reverse. Stuff about relationships and feelings is almost always like that. She hates it, hates when something is obvious to everyone and nonsensical confusion to her. Parker knows she’s broken, but she hates it when it’s obvious how much got dropped through the cracks.

“Whoa, hey,” Eliot says, gently.

She waves a hand at him. “Never mind. I’m used to it.” He just stares at her for a moment while she eats a bite of gelato and stares furiously at the table. “It didn’t use to matter as much. Before the team. I was a thief and alone and that’s what I’m good at.” Parker makes a face and has another bite of gelato. She didn’t really mean to say that much out loud, but it’s in her head a lot, so it probably doesn’t matter.

“Parker. You know we all like you, we all want you around. It’s okay that you’re different,” Eliot tells her carefully. Parker nods and doesn’t look up. Eliot sighs and mutters, “Dammit, okay.”

It’s the same thing she did for him this morning, except she suspects that he’s gentler about it. Still, she only has a split second of warning before he intentionally overwhelms the link with affection. Images of how Nate focuses on her planning for cons, genuinely involved in what she’s saying in a way he isn’t for anyone else; how much Sophie enjoys coaching her, protecting her in a way Sophie’s never had cause to protect anyone. Hardison, and a rush of images to support Eliot’s assertion that Hardison loves the hell out of her. And Eliot’s own fondness under it all, constant and stronger than he’s ever likely to admit to again. There is understanding there, they know who she is even if they don’t understand, and they want her, they’re keeping her. She is loved. It pounds into her head like a pulse, present and constant and undeniable. When the intensity fades, she’s not at all surprised that there are tears in her eyes.

“Thanks,” she says quietly, smiling at him, before they both break eye contact and return to their gelato. Parker goes back over the images, savoring them, wanting to remember it even after this is all over. She wants to remember that she’s okay, here, that she’s allowed to be a little broken.

They eat the rest of their gelato in silence, but it’s comfortable again, both of them feeling safe. Parker drops the dishes off and grins as the shopkeeper coos over them a bit as they leave.

“Hey, you should bring Hardison here. To confuse her. He’d like it,” Parker suggests gleefully. “Maybe next time you two go out for coffee.” Hardison has told her, cheerfully but in that way of his like he’s prepared to be serious about it, about their semi-regular coffee dates. 

“Hardison and I do not do coffee dates, Parker.”

“Yes you do. Almost every Saturday,” Parker points out.

Eliot makes a face. “It’s not my fault the best coffee in Boston is across the street from his apartment.”

“It’s okay. It’s nice. He’s a better date than I am, anyway.”

“…Shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my outline for this fic, Nate received only one mention. It was for this chapter, and it read "while Nate Suffers".
> 
> I'm really delighted by all the feedback I've received. Thanks!!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter acts like it is going to contain a sex scene, but chapter does not contain a sex scene. 
> 
> This is not my favorite chapter, and is the chapter that has received the most last-minute editing. Hopefully it's not too awkward and you all enjoy it anyway.
> 
> Anyway, content warnings for discussion of dubcon.

The rest of the day passes in relative quiet. Nate and Sophie prepare for the auction. Hardison stays on his computers most of the day, but ducks out for a couple hours after dinner for an errand. Parker and Eliot don’t really have anything to do, but neither of them particularly wants to be alone, so they stick around.

Finally, it’s late, Nate’s officially too drunk to be of any further use, and Sophie announces that she’s going home. Hardison pulls a pill bottle out of his pocket and tosses it to Parker.

“Here; for you and Eliot,” Hardison offers.

Parker squints at the label. “Prazosin.”

Hardison nods. “It’s supposed to help with nightmares.”

“Yeah, by changing how the body treats adrenaline. We take this, we might be a little different on the job tomorrow,” Eliot warns her.

“Your call, but you’re gonna have as much trouble if you don’t manage to get some sleep,” Hardison points out.

Parker shrugs. “We’re really skilled. I believe in us.” She takes a pill and tosses the bottle to Eliot.

“You claim that you don’t even have nightmares,” Eliot points out.

“Yeah, but I do have memories. Lots of them.”

Eliot considers this, decides it to be a good point, and takes a pill. It’s the first time he’s ever taken medication for something like this, and he never really figured he would, but- hell, he doesn’t want to inflict his shit on Parker. He deserves it, deserves so much worse, but she-

A lemon collides with his shoulder. Eliot glances at Parker. “Knock it off. You’re _good_ ,” Parker insists. “Hardison, tell Eliot he’s good.”

“The very best,” Hardison says, raising his eyebrows but not missing a beat. “Parker, you know where you wanna go tonight?”

“My warehouse, but I need a ride,” Parker says. Hardison nods and they leave, ambling slowly out. Hardison glances back and smiles, long and slow, and Eliot can’t read Hardison’s mind, but- well.

Eliot drives back to his apartment and does his level best not to think about anything at all. He entirely anticipates barely sleeping at all tonight, especially after what happened in the museum, but Parker’s asleep almost instantly, and the force of the link is so strong Eliot barely has time to collapse into his bed before he’s asleep too.

* * *

Parker knows almost immediately that it’s a dream. A nice dream, the kind that leaves her all warm and squirmy when she wakes up. It does take her a second to remember that the Eliot in this dream is actually Eliot, not dream-Eliot. Which makes it a little odd that he’s currently kissing dream-Hardison, kind of a lot, but it’s fun to watch. Everyone is super naked.

“Hey, do you know that you’re having a dream?” Parker asks, in case Eliot’s forgotten again and doesn’t want her to be watching this. The boys are tangling up on the bed and Parker’s on an armchair close to them. One leg is slung up on the side, but she rearranges herself to look a little less obvious.

It gets his attention, but the words don’t sink in. He starts crawling across the bed toward her, focused, but not on what she’s saying. He slides a hand in her hair and she pulls away, trying to make him pay attention. In her peripheral vision, dream-Hardison gets all cloudy and faded, with no one watching him directly.

“Eliot, you’re asleep. I’m not just dream-Parker, I’m Parker. Are you paying attention?”

It doesn’t sink in, but her acting different than dream-Parker would, presumably, does shift his attention back to dream-Hardison, who is in focus and has his mouth attached to Eliot’s shoulder, his hands in Eliot’s hair.

It’s pretty, and Parker kind of wants to just hang out and let it unfold, but Eliot will be mad at her tomorrow if she does. He’d never want to do something like this without knowing that it wasn’t just in the privacy of his head, and she doesn’t blame him, so she tries again.

“Eliot. You are asleep and having a dream,” Parker says. “How are you so good at paying attention when you’re awake and so bad at it now?” This accomplishes nothing but Eliot staring at her chest. Parker rolls her eyes, not bothering cover herself. It’s not like it’s interesting. “You’re such a guy sometimes.”

This accomplishes something, and Eliot blinks in a way that looks like he might be coming out of it. Dream-Hardison drifts off a little, toward Parker, who directs him back toward the periphery for a second.

Eliot figures it out and makes an alarmed face, grabbing a pillow that probably wasn’t there a second ago and covering himself.

“Parker! …Damn it. Uh,” Eliot struggles to talk for a second. He’s turning crimson, and it’s going halfway down his chest, which is interesting. “…Dream. Asleep. Yes. Okay. Sorry.”

“You really can’t tell?” Parker asks. “Do you have this sort of dream a lot?”

Eliot is not looking at her and the red is going even farther down. He grunts and doesn’t answer, but the connection is strong even though they’re asleep, and she can see echoes of past dreams playing, distorted, against the outsides of the area, what would be the walls if it were a real room.

Parker giggles, looking at them. “Huh. Ooh, that looks fun. It’s okay, this one might not even be your dream, if it helps. This is what Hardison and I actually look like naked, if that means anything.”

Eliot blinks, glances at Hardison before he can stop himself, and then squints determinedly at his own hands. “And now I know that,” he says softly, “and I can never go back.” She thinks he wouldn’t’ve said it out loud, if he weren’t still wasn’t entirely awake-like.

“Is that what you actually look like naked?” Parker asks, mostly because she just wants to know.

“…Yeah.”

“Hm, maybe it doesn’t mean anything then. Also, nice.”

Eliot is drifting off again, forgetting what’s going on due to the admittedly potent distraction that is dream-Hardison’s mouth.

Parker snaps her fingers at him. “Hey. You’re still asleep, I’m still present. I mean, go for it if you want, but I’m paying attention.”

Eliot snaps to attention much quicker this time. “Dammit. Sorry.”

Parker shrugs. “It’s fine. I’ve had dreams like this, too.” They echo briefly across the walls. Hers make much more sense and have fewer odd jumps than his. “Hey, whose dream do you think this is?”

“I’m just gonna wake up now,” Eliot says, and they both do, Parker’s eyes snapping open to reveal her empty, shadowy warehouse.

Eliot, meanwhile, is quietly panicking. Parker’s never known him to do that before, but nothing like this has ever happened before, either.

Parker ignores him and goes back to sleep, focusing on the feeling of falling. She loves the flying dreams the best. Maybe she’ll even bring Eliot with her.

* * *

Eliot wakes up the next morning and spends a few seconds contemplating just bailing on this whole thing and fleeing the country.

Parker, in the back of his head, points out that she could find him pretty easily. She feels pretty calm about the whole thing, more amused than anything else, but he’s always known that the girl didn’t have any sense. There’s anxiety beneath the amusement, a tightly constrained flutter she’s trying to squash, but he feels it churning in his stomach.

She’d be totally in her rights to be disgusted, or threatened. Parker didn’t ask for this. She didn’t invite his issues to be in her head like that. Particularly given what she’s been through, that Eliot knows that sexual attention was a threat to her for a long time…

Parker’s unsettled, but it could be worse. Eliot would have expected it to be worse. At least they were that lucky, at least he didn’t hurt her.

He’d anticipated that the violence in his head would drip into hers. The flashback at the museum yesterday had been awful, but not surprising. Parker’s shrugged off worse, anyway. Somehow, stupidly, Eliot hadn’t considered that his private issues, the thoughts he’s been squashing for months- here, in this context, they could be a threat at worst and an unwanted provocation at best.  

Parker reminds him again that she’s fine, that she’s not freaked out. Eventually, it’s the reminder that they’re interrogating the anthropologist in a few hours that gets him out of his apartment. Maybe they’ll be able to end this today. Not in time to save his dignity, but better than nothing.

He meets up with the team at McRory’s. Parker’s giggling at him when he walks in. She stops and frowns sternly at him quickly.

“You spend too much time worrying that I’m gonna freak out about what’s in your head. You already know I’m not freaking out,” Parker tells him. “You’re being all thundery today. It’s worse than the museum yesterday. Stop it. I’m not mad. You can dream whatever you want.”

Hardison looks like he has several follow-up questions, but does not ask them, for which Eliot is grateful.

“All right, I don’t want to talk about it,” Eliot grumbles.

“Then stop obsessing, because you’re making it hard to think about anything else,” Parker orders.

“All right,” Sophie says, bounding over impressively lightly on her heels. “Auction starts in an hour. We resell Amy King her own diadem and expose her fraud. You go to the museum basement to interrogate Dr. Timbrook about the effects of the cups. Everyone ready?”

Parker nods cheerfully. “We’re good to go. Good luck!”

They’re driving separately, despite going to the same place- Nate and Sophie are officially in the aliases, and the con is on. Nonetheless, Eliot briefly considers asking to ride with them instead, but dismisses the idea and, trying to cling to what little pride he has left, climbs grouchily into the back of Lucille.

Parker will not stop thinking about the dream, which is foiling Eliot’s efforts to not think about the dream. They keep going around and around, Eliot’s embarrassment and guilt being slowly diluted by Parker’s amusement and arousal. Hardison hums to the radio, but Eliot can see the alertness in his eyes, the tension in his hands on the wheel.

“Knock it off, I need to focus on the job,” Parker orders as they merge onto the freeway. “It’s distracting.”

“I’m not thinking about it, you’re thinking about it!” Eliot insists.

Parker raises her eyebrows and shakes her head. “You’re awfully sure I’m gonna get mad at you for someone who knows for a fact that I’m not gonna. You’re obsessing and it’s annoying.”

“I am trying not to think about it, but you keep reminding me, because you think it’s…” Eliot trails off, because he can think of a few accurate words, but damn if he’s saying any of them out loud. Hardison looks amused.

“You’re the one thinking about it! Stop!”

Hardison interrupts, calmly, “Maybe you both are thinking about it and reminding each other. Feedback loop. Each time one of you focuses on it, it gets stronger for you both.”

Parker considers this and nods. “Yeah, okay. Eliot’s still obsessing, though. And it’s still stupid.”

“Yeah, I believe it,” Hardison says calmly. “Eliot, nobody cares, chill out.”

“…You told him?” Eliot demands, even though the link is far too strong now for him to have missed such a thing.

Hardison snorts. “No. Y’all ain’t subtle. You had a sex dream, Parker knew it was a dream and you didn’t, you did something that she finds kinda hot and interesting and that you think brings, like, great shame on your name and lineage. Parker’s been intrigued and hot in the collar all morning, you’ve been embarrassed all to hell. It’s not hard to figure out.”

“Yeah,” Parker confirms nonchalantly, smirking and wickedly amused by the part that Hardison hasn’t figured out. Eliot resists the urge to put his face in his hands and make piteous noises. “So what do we do about the sexual feedback loop before we have to talk to the anthropologist?”

Hardison considers for a second and then says, “Your topic is Captain Crunch. Discuss.”

Eliot knows perfectly well what Hardison’s pulling, but gets sucked into the conversation anyway. Parker is a grown adult, dammit, and he refuses to be solely responsible for her vitamin intake.

They compare and contrast workout routines, discuss the best way to steal three different famous artifacts, and argue about whether a pirate would win a fight with a ninja before Hardison parks in the employee lot at the back of the museum. The auction members are being seated, but the auction hasn’t begun, and the three of them have a few minutes to kill until security all heads to the auction and they can proceed to the labs.

Eliot doesn’t feel better, exactly, but he can push it aside and compartmentalize in a way he couldn’t twenty minutes ago. Hardison casually twists around in his seat, reaches out a hand- Eliot responds reflexively, the tap-tap-bump of their secret handshake (Eliot swears that he has no idea how this developed and is pretty sure he never agreed to such a thing) does settle him a little.

Hardison and Parker slip hands into each other and Eliot can feel a long, low hum in the pit of his stomach. He has no idea if it’s his or Parker’s.

Both Hardison and Parker have said that it’s okay if Eliot’s attracted to her, or him. He’s not sure he can imagine that possibly being true, but- Well, now’s not the time.

Eliot pushes it aside, again, and catches Parker’s anxiety again. There’ve been shades of it all morning, but now it’s worse. It’s not about the dream, he realizes belatedly. She’s trying to push it down, but once he notices he can’t focus on anything else.

“Parker,” he finally says quietly.

Parker makes a face. “If she doesn’t know, if this doesn’t work, we don’t have any other ideas. To fix it, without… And I thought I was gonna be okay with it, but I kind of hate it.”

“You don’t have to-” Hardison starts.

Parker shakes her head. “Yes, I do. There are no other ideas, and we can’t live like this, not long term. We have to end this. Both of us have been trying really hard not to think about the worst stuff, but that won’t work. We have to end this. I just. I thought I was gonna be okay with it. ‘Cause I like Eliot, and I trust you both, and I know I’m safe. But I…”

“You don’t want anything pushin’ you,” Eliot finishes when Parker trails off. “I get it.”

“It sucked. Before. And I don’t want it like that again,” Parker admits, putting her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. “I like having choices. I’m glad it’s with you both, or-” she shudders, biting her lip, “-but I don’t like it. I can do it. I will, if we have to. But I really, really hope the doctor can help.”

Hardison nods slowly. “I hope so too, babe. Even if she doesn’t- girl, you know that if you tell us that this doesn’t go down, that you ain’t doin’ it, we’ll respect that? I know the mind-meld thing is dangerous, but nobody’s gonna push you into anything. You know that?”

Parker nods, staring out the window. Eliot can feel her fear and trauma pounding against the edges of his brain, and it hurts. He knows it’s worse for her.

Hardison squeezes her hand. “Okay, babe. We do what we can here, and then it’s your plan on your schedule. Yeah?”

Parker glances at Eliot, who just nods. Parker closes her eyes. Eliot can feel the resolve hardening in her, and it’s eerie, the way it’s similar and different to the sensation in him. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I love comments and am totally open to and appreciative of constructive criticism. Thanks for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, content warning for discussion of dubcon. Also, brief violence.
> 
> This one's more plot-heavy than it's been in several chapters. Hope you enjoy it!

As planned, security is absent. The labs are mostly abandoned as well, and Parker’s briefly terrified that Dr. Timbrook won’t be there either, even though Hardison’s confirmed that her ID badge was scanned into the building this morning. But when they walk into her lab, there she is, filling out paperwork.

Dr. Taneisha Timbrook blinks and looks over at them. “I’m sorry, this area is restricted personnel only. Can I help you?”

Hardison pulls out a fake badge. “Ma’am, we’re with the police investigating the recent break-in. We’ve recovered the artifacts, but something’s happened, and we need further information on a set of ritual cups.”

Dr. Timbrook squints at them. “I’ve met the officers on that case, and you’re not them. The sergeant told me she would contact me directly and immediately if anything was recovered.”

Hardison hesitates. “Yes, well, she’s had an unrelated emergency. We took over the investigation shortly before the raid that recovered the items. Now, the cups-”

“You’re not the police, you’re the thieves!” Dr. Timbrook accuses, sounding personally offended about it.

“Yeah, we are,” Parker confirms, nodding. “We still have questions, though.”

Dr. Timbrook grabs a phone.

“It’s dead,” Hardison tells her calmly.

“Security’s all been moved upstairs to the auction. No patrols,” Eliot adds.

“And if I scream?” Dr. Timbrook asks.

Parker pulls the Taser out of her belt. “We’d prefer to have this conversation here, but we’re flexible. It wouldn’t be hard to sneak you out.”

Dr. Timbrook considers this for a long moment. “The cups.”

“Tell us about them,” Parker prompts.

Dr. Timbrook shrugs. “Constructed in the 9th century, used among a small clan of people in what is now southern Sweden as a part of a wedding rite. In marriages for love- arranged marriages had their own rituals- the bride and groom would each drink from one. The ritual was a symbol of unity and believed to have mystical powers, to strengthen understanding between the couple. Am I to assume that you are deep lovers of Swedish history as well as thieving marauders?”

“No,” Parker says, narrowing her eyes at the sarcasm. “The cups do have mystical powers. And we’re experiencing them.”

Dr. Timbrook raises an eyebrow and abruptly looks more nervous. “Ah, you believe that you have been… cursed, by my artifacts?”

“We have,” Eliot growls.

“Write down a sentence, show it to me, and he can tell you what it says,” Parker says impatiently. She doesn’t have time to deal with someone thinking she’s crazy right now, at least about this. “We’ve been reading each other’s minds since it happened.”

“Mind-reading?” Dr. Timbrook repeats incredulously. They just stare at her until she pulls out a pad, scribbles something down, and hands it to Eliot.

“‘Happiness is’- from context, maybe ‘episodical’- is that a word?- but he’s not sure about your handwriting- ‘Ruth Benedict,’” Parker recites immediately.

Dr. Timbrook sits back, studying them. “I’ve heard stories about this sort of thing,” she says, a bit breathlessly. “Mystical artifacts that actually show some sign of supernatural imbuement. Remarkable. I would love to get you both under an fMRI.” She glances at Hardison. “And you? Are you involved?”

“Sorta. Boyfriend of the bride.”

Dr. Timbrook clears her throat slightly and nods, focusing in on Parker and Eliot. “How did this happen? Did you drink out of the goblets?”

“We just touched them. For a second, at the same time,” Parker says. “It was an accident.”

“Just touched them?” Dr. Timbrook replies, her brows creasing. “Hm.”

“What?” Parker demands.

“I’ve touched a goblet at the same time as assistant’s have touched the twin. I’m sure many assistants have done the same with one another. Not to mention other institutions that this pair of artifacts has been at before- I’m personal friends with the museum director who had it last, and he didn’t report any anomalies,” Dr. Timbrook says. “I don’t know why the ritual would take place between you two and not in other scenarios. You two are not… involved?”

“Involved in what?” Parker asks.

“No, we’re not involved,” Eliot growls. Parker gets the meaning from his head (it, also, explains what was going on in several previous conversations that, in retrospect, she probably handled wrong).

“Eliot and I aren’t having any sex,” Parker announces, to a raised eyebrow by Dr. Timbrook.

“It might not necessarily be sexual, so much as romantic, though sexuality is a likely factor. If I sent him out of the room,” she asks, indicating Hardison, “I wouldn’t receive a different answer?”

Hardison snorts. “I can leave, if she needs the reassurance.”

“We’re not,” Parker says again. “And we’re desperate enough about this that we’re gonna be honest with you. We’d admit it if we were.”

Hardison pulls out a copy of the translation he did from the cups and passes it to Dr. Timbrook. “Is this accurate?”

Dr. Timbrook reads it over. “Hm,” she says. “Well, I don’t know what desperate graduate student you found to do this for you, but I certainly hope it’s not one of mine. This language doesn’t even have adverbs. Though I suppose it’s not awful, given the short timeframe.”

Hardison exhales sharply. “It’s a bad translation?”

“The linguistic imperialism inherent in assuming that every language is structured like American English-”

“No one cares,” Parker interrupts. “Is the sex stuff accurate?”

“Oh,” Dr. Timbrook says, clearing her throat and looking back at them. “Right. Yes, as accurate as can be, I’m afraid. The term does refer to intercourse. At times, it can refer specifically to the consummation of a marriage or a loss of virginity, both of which could be incompatible with your situation.”

“Yeah, the virginity thing’s off the table. Eliot’s kind of a ho,” Hardison says. He’s doing pretty well at keeping his voice steady, but Parker can see too much white in his eyes.

“Well, in patriarchal societies such as this one-” Dr. Timbrook catches somebody’s facial expression and clears her throat. “Right. Yes, in that respect, the translation is accurate.”

Parker’s braced herself, but the verdict still hits her hard. She slips her hands in her pockets to stop them from shaking.

“You’re sure? This is definitely what it means?” Hardison asks, a little frantically. “It can’t be anything else?”

Dr. Timbrook shrugs. “There are a few instances of that term being used between two men who had a very close platonic or philosophical connection. Whether it’s a semi-common metaphorical usage, intended to allude to a homosexual relationship, or a separate definition is under debate. In this context, however, the word almost certainly refers to marital congress.”

“So, in your professional opinion, Parker and I gotta have sex to end this,” Eliot says flatly. Dr. Timbrook nods. “What are the parameters on that?”

“Ah,” Dr. Timbrook says. “Physically, you mean? Well. Coitus, I suppose, would be the safest bet.”

“Condoms?” Eliot asks roughly. Dr. Timbrook blinks, looking flustered. Parker supposes she never assumed that how ancient Swedes felt about safe sex in magical conditions would come up in her job. Parker can relate- she never figured it would come up in hers either.

“There’s no evidence that this particular clan had heavy usage of barrier methods, so there’s no way to be certain,” Dr. Timbrook says slowly. “However, given that the goblets function mythically, I have no reason to believe that the, erm, physical alterations caused by a prophylactic will change the supernatural considerations. I would imagine that condom usage would not make a difference. This is, of course, just a guess.”

“Sure,” Parker says. “What about if Hardison helps with the sex?”

“Ah?” Dr. Timbrook says. “I genuinely have no idea. I would guess that a third party wouldn’t make a difference either, given that he is not currently involved in the rite, but there is no historical information on… marital consummation with a guest.”

Parker nods. Her hands are still shaking. She glances over at Hardison, whose eyes are too wide, and Eliot, whose jaw is so tight he might crack a tooth.

“From your reactions, it’s clear that you two are not involved,” Dr. Timbrook says.

“We told you that,” Parker points out.

Dr. Timbrook nods. “But you do know each other. Would you describe yourselves as emotionally intimate?”

Hardison snorts loudly, catching all their attention. “Sorry,” he says, blinking back his startled reaction. “It’s just that if you arranged every person I know on a scale of most to least emotionally intimate, those two would live at the bottom. But that’s in general, not with each other. Yeah, I’d say they are with each other.”

“And you,” Parker points out.

“And me,” Hardison allows, nodding.

Dr. Timbrook nods slowly. “That may be why you two were effected and not myself or my assistants. The relationship between you is… sufficient to be mistaken by the cups as a possible marriage. It also explains why the rite was used in love marriages, but not arranged. …I would love to run some tests, if at all possible. How long do you have?”

“Not long,” Hardison mutters in a low voice. He taps his jaw to indicate his comm. Of the three, he’s the only one wearing one. “Nate and Sophie are having some trouble. If they can’t resolve it, we’re gonna have to go.”

“So we have to have sex to end the curse?” Parker asks.

Dr. Timbrook raises an eyebrow. “I found out that this mystical rite actually exists fifteen minutes ago. There’s nothing I can tell you about it definitively. However, based on the inscription and my knowledge of the traditions of that clan, yes, that would be my professional conclusion.”

Parker lets out a long breath and clenches her fists. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry,” Dr. Timbrook says awkwardly. “I know this must be very awkward for you all.”

Parker nods. “Thanks for your help. If we leave you a phone number, will you call us if you figure anything else out?”

Dr. Timbrook brightens. “Oh, absolutely! Would you two be willing to come back for further tests? I won’t call the police, of course.”

“No, probably not,” Parker says honestly.

Dr. Timbrook nods, looking disappointed. “When you’re finished with… whatever crime it is that you’re doing, could you return the cups to me? This opens up so many avenues of research.”

“Nope. We’re destroyin’ those things,” Hardison replies cheerfully.

Dr. Timbrook looks horrified. “Those are priceless historical artifacts!”

“Can we explode them?” Parker asks.

“Whatever you want, babe.”

“Cool.” Parker glances back at Dr. Timbrook and adds, “Don’t bother calling the police on us. They’ll never find us and we won’t talk to you again. And we’ll still blow up the cups.” Dr. Timbrook looks mutely dismayed that they would even consider destroying cursed artifacts.

“Uh, guys?” Hardison says quietly. “I think Nate just got recognized by a member of the Mafia. We should wrap this up.”

“What?” Eliot growls. “Do we need to go?”

“Sophie’s stalling.”

Parker looks back up at Dr. Timbrook. “Do you know anything else that might help us in this situation? We don’t want to have sex because of this.”

“I apologize, but I don’t. Perhaps if you come back later, with the cups, we can do some scans and-”

Hardison interrupts with, “Guns are out, we have to go.”

Parker reacts at the same speed as all of them, sprinting out of the office with nothing more than a, “Bye! Don’t call the cops!” over her shoulder, but she’s not ready to go. She needed more. She needed an answer, and she didn’t get anything.

But her team needs her, and she’ll go. That’s who she is now. So she matches stride with Hardison and Eliot and doesn’t even feel particularly regretful about leaving their last chance behind.

* * *

Eliot slips in his comm just in time hear Nate loudly and rather conspicuously narrate that they’re being led to the parking lot. The three of them switch directions abruptly, sprinting across the hallway back toward Lucille.

None of them remembers until they arrive that Lucille is parked in the employee lot, and that Nate is referring to the guest lot.

“We’re in the wrong spot, but we’re driving around,” Eliot says, catching the keys Hardison throws at him. “Do what they say, we’re comin.’”

The Mafia member orders them into a car, and Nate asks loudly, “Why do you want us to get into that car?”

“Nate, man,” Hardison says, long-suffering, “Your comm is turned up loud enough that we can hear what he says. You don’t have to repeat everything.”

“Get in. We’ll tail. If there’s gonna be a fight, it’s better if it’s not in the museum parking lot anyway,” Parker orders. Eliot starts the van and whips it out of the parking lot.

“One of these days, I want you to teach me stunt driving in this thing,” Hardison mutters.

“Ooh! Me too!” Parker pipes up.

“No. Not her too,” Hardison says, shuddering. Eliot nods in agreement, following the small black sedan that will be the Mafia car.

“Are we all okay about Timbrook?” Parker asks tentatively.

“Later, Parker,” Eliot mutters.

“Out of curiosity, though,” Hardison starts, in a voice that promises a punchline, “Eliot, did you like her sex euphemisms any better? You more comfortable with ‘hanky panky’ or _‘marital congress’_? ‘Cause I can switch. I live to please.”

“Dammit, Hardison,” Eliot says tiredly. Parker giggles delightedly.

They tail for a few miles until the Mafia car pulls into a lot next to an office building that is closed down for the weekend. Eliot circles around and parks on the street.

“This is one of King’s assets,” Hardison tells them. “Shell corporation. We’re totally blown.”

“Oh, you think?” Eliot asks. “Can you hack into the security cameras?”

Hardison turns around his laptop, which has the security feeds on the screen. “I don’t think they’re being monitored from their end, but it might trigger an alarm if I just kill the feed. Want me to make a loop, or want me to leave it and bring the whole thing down when we leave?”

Nate and Sophie are too close to the Mafia member to answer, so Parker makes the call. “Loop it. We might need to get out fast.”

Hardison nods and types. “One second… okay. Now what?”

“C’mon. Stay behind me, don’t proceed until the goons in the lobby are down,” Eliot growls. He hops out of Lucille and jogs across the parking lot, monitoring Parker and Hardison behind him.

The goons in the lobby glance over, startled, when he walks in. “How you doin’?” Eliot asks the nearest one, and then punches him in the throat before moving on to the next one. They don’t have guns, but he can’t afford any of them reaching Parker or Hardison, so he takes them out quickly, almost in one smooth motion.

As the last goon is falling, groaning, to the floor, Eliot suddenly becomes aware that Parker is staring at his ass.

Eliot turns around abruptly, to find Parker nonchalantly checking him out, and Hardison abruptly glancing at the ceiling and unsuccessfully trying to act innocent.

“…Seriously? Both of you?” Eliot asks blankly.

Hardison looks a bit guilty. Parker just shrugs cheerfully. Over comms, Nate clears his throat pointedly. Eliot tables this odd revelation and waves them both toward the elevator.

Nate suddenly begins loudly offering money for his release, while Sophie whispers, “The men just left- they said they were going to the roof. We’re just in here with King.”

Hardison pulls out his phone. “Helipad. Four goons up there. If the helicopter has many more, we could have a problem.”

“Eliot could stop the guys at the helipad, and we could meet you with King?” Parker offers. Nate makes an affirmative-sounding grunt and Eliot nods, figuring that at least this time his fighting will not have unexpected voyeurs. Parker catches this thought and giggles at him before tugging Hardison into one of the elevators and waving as the doors close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! As always, comments delight me. :D


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome, finally, to the bodyswap chapter.
> 
> It's the penultimate chapter, everyone. I'll post the final one on Thursday.

The job manages to go more wrong from there, somehow. Hardison had stopped paying attention to the con a long time ago, and now barely knows what’s going on, but it’s pretty obvious that it’s not good.

Eliot’s most of the way through beating up the guys on the roof when King gets a call from the helicopter pilot informing her of what’s happening on the helipad. She orders him to land elsewhere and meet her in the secondary drop site, then walks out of the room and immediately finds Hardison and Parker lurking in the hallway. Hardison manages a fairly impressive (if he does say so himself) elbow to the face before Parker tasers her, but apparently the helicopter managed to land somewhere close, because they’ve only just managed to undo the ridiculously complex duct tape strapping Nate and Sophie to their chairs before more guards show up. The four of them get moved to a different part of the mazelike office building, while Eliot wanders around looking for them.

Nate, Sophie, Parker and Hardison are taped to chairs- excessively, again, and Hardison’s sure it’s gonna hurt like a bitch when it comes off- in whatever conference room they’ve been dragged into with half a dozen Mafia goons and a moderately conscious and increasingly pissed off Amy King.

Despite the Active Crisis, when Sophie leans over to ask if they’d gotten anything from Dr. Timbrook, having to answer no still feels like the worst part of Hardison’s whole week.

Nate’s got his Serious Mastermind Squint on, but it doesn’t look like he’s really getting anywhere. Hardison’s starting to worry about this one.

Parker looks over at him with a curious look in her eyes, says, “I have an idea,” and follows up this statement by immediately passing out.

“Whoa!” Hardison says, alarmed. “Parker? P-Parker?” She doesn’t respond, hanging limply on the chair, but she’s definitely breathing.

“Serves her right,” King grumbles from the corner where she’s icing her Taser burn. She glances at her phone for about the third time that minute.

“There was a thump on the comms,” Sophie breathes. “I think Eliot’s out too. Now what?”

“I’m working on it,” Nate whispers back.

There’s a confused grunt on the comms, and when Hardison glances over, Parker’s eyes are open again. She’s squinting and looks disoriented, but she’s awake.

“Welcome back. You all right?” Nate asks quietly.

Parker nods but doesn’t glance at them, studying the guards instead. She’s flexing against the duct tape, testing its hold.

King’s phone rings, and she answers it immediately. “Yes, is the shipment ready to go? I’m having some trouble- not cops, vigilantes or something- and I’d prefer to be out of the city tonight. Yes? Yes. I’ll meet you there.” She hangs up, and Parker moves.

Parker whips up, slamming the back of the chair into the first goon, who drops back against the wall with a huff. Another guard pulls a knife, and Parker moves easily, moves with him so that his knife slices the duct tape binding one arm to the chair. Parker- or, no, Hardison realizes. Not Parker. Parker doesn’t fight like that. It’s almost unbelievable, but Hardison knows what he’s seeing. Eliot punches the goon in the solar plexus, takes the knife, and finishes carving through the duct tape. He throws the chair at one of the guards and disarms the rest, threatening with the knife more than fists. Eliot stumbles a few times, or slides too far, unused to Parker’s much lighter weight, but he gets it done in under three minutes. (It’s really bizarre to watch, but it’s also, Hardison allows himself to admit, pretty hot.)

“Eliot,” Hardison says, incredulously, when the last goon is on the floor and King’s been tasered again. It’s not really a question.

“Yeah,” Eliot says, staring at Parker’s hands. “This is odd.” His voice sounds like Parker’s, except that the growl and slight Southern accent came with him. “Are you all right?”

Sophie nods, her eyebrows near her hairline. “Yes, we’re fine. We should go.”

Eliot nods and begins cutting them all from their chairs efficiently. “Parker was gonna try to find an exit. I assume none of you know how to get out of this goddamn maze of a building?”

“Parker’s in… your body?” Nate asks, sounding equal levels pained and intrigued.

“Yes,” Sophie replies. “I found her.” She points at the window. They all turn, and there’s Parker in Eliot’s body, outside and perched on the windowsill.

Hardison goes to unlock the window. Parker bangs one of Eliot’s shoulders on the frame when she slides inside.

“Ow. Why are your shoulders so wide? It’s inconvenient. How do you get through air ducts?” Parker demands.

“Parker, did you just free-climb on the outside of an office building, seven stories up, in my body?” Eliot demands. She nods cheerfully. “Dammit. Parker, no. I want that body back later. No dumb stunts in it.”

Parker responds with an eye roll and, “I had my skills and your arms. What was gonna happen?”

“That’s a reasonable point,” Hardison says.

“Although you’re heavier than I expected and you should consider working on the range of motion in your left shoulder.”

“A’ight, you undercut yourself a bit there, babe.” It’s not as strange as he’d expect, calling Parker by a pet name when she looks exactly like Eliot, which is something he should either analyze later or never think about again.

“Can we go before more Mafia guys show up?” Eliot demands impatiently.

Parker nods. “Right. I’m pretty sure I know the way out. It helps to see where we are from the outside, and I’ve stolen things from buildings by this architect tons of times. This way.”

They follow her as she weaves her way through hallways. It’s only a few minutes before she finds the elevators- just before they ding, revealing five FBI agents.

“Did we know about that?” Hardison asks quietly after they duck behind a wall.

“Technically, this may be my fault. He wasn’t actually supposed to call the authorities,” Sophie mutters. “Coward.”

“Right. We’re gonna wait for them to leave and then take the stairs,” Nate whispers.

“The stairs will take us to the lobby,” Parker points out. “There are probably FBI down there too, dealing with all the unconscious mob guys. We’d have to climb out a window on the second floor.”

“How are there no exit signs in this place? Seriously, this is not up to fire code,” Hardison mutters.

The stairwell, as it turns out, is locked.

“Eliot, pass me my lockpicks,” Parker says, kneeling by the knob.

“This outfit has no pockets, where are your- they’re in your bra, aren’t they?” Eliot asks, a bit bleakly.

“Yep,” Parker says.

“Parker, I’m not doin’ that.”

Parker sighs, stands, reaches into her own bra, pulls out the lockpicks, and then gets to work.

“That… was a weird moment,” Eliot says.

“Yeah, if we end up having sex like this, it’s gonna be really strange,” Parker points out, to a choking noise from Eliot.

“Think of it like a learning opportunity. I’ve always wanted to know how the other half lives,” Sophie suggests. Nate makes a face that’s simultaneously horrified and intrigued as the door clicks open.

The escape goes like nothing else has today: well. Parker finds a window on the 2nd floor convenient to the street, they all take turns dropping into the flower pot below, and no one stops them when they make their way to Lucille.

Nate drives. They decide not to go back to the museum yet on the grounds that there might be FBI there too.

“Are you two going to switch back?” Sophie asks when Eliot has to tell Parker to stop poking his old injuries.

“Not yet. I’m not sure I have enough energy. I want food,” Parker declares. It is several hours past lunchtime. “There’s a hotdog place near here.”

“You are not putting that in my body,” Eliot grumps stubbornly. “Food’s a good idea, though.”

After some debate, Eliot grudgingly approves a local sandwich shop, and they all stop for post-Crisis hoagies. It is discovered that Parker and Eliot genuinely have physiologically different palettes, a fact that Eliot apparently finds terribly upsetting, and Parker finds fascinating. Hardison’s starting to worry that Parker’s not going to want to relinquish the body right away, now that she’s finding exciting new things to try in it.

This worry is assuaged, however, almost as soon as Lucille pulls out of the sandwich shop parking lot.

“All right, enough’s enough, I want my body back before you do something reckless in it,” Eliot demands.

Parker hesitates and says, “Do you think it’ll work?”

“It’d better,” Eliot says. Parker nods and, simultaneously, they collapse unconscious in their seats.

“Man, that is eerie,” Hardison comments. They stay limp for several seconds, and then several more. “Uh, did it take this long in the office building?” Sophie shakes her head, twisted around in the front seat and looking on worriedly.

They stir, finally. Parker- or whoever’s operating Parker’s body, at the moment- sits up a bit and mutters, distantly, “Something went wrong.”

“Eh?” Hardison asks, alarmed. “What went wrong? Are you all right?”

“It’s not working.” This comes out of Eliot’s mouth, and sounds like a struggle. “We’re not switching. We’re…”

“Talk to me,” Hardison says, trying to sound calm and probably failing dramatically. “Who’s in whose body?”

“Don’t know.” This one’s spoken by both, in sync, and it sends a shiver down Hardison’s spine.

“They’re not switching, they’re blending,” Sophie says in a tone of horrified fascination. “The body language is…”

Hardison looks, and can’t see nearly as much as he knows Sophie can, but he watches Parker’s mouth twitch in a very Eliot-ish way as the same time her hands dance minutely across the vinyl of the seat the way they always do. A second later, Eliot’s hands are moving that way and Parker’s are still, but both of them are leaning back in their seats in the pseudo-relaxed way Eliot does sometimes.

“Whoa,” Hardison says blankly. “What the hell?”

They both shrug, simultaneously, and after that they don’t respond much at all.

* * *

Parker suspects that it won’t go smoothly this time before they even try, and knows something’s gone wrong immediately, even before it’s obvious what. It’s like falling into the eye of a hurricane, the peace kept carefully with borders and edges but a gale raging just outside them.

Eliot doesn’t know in advance, but as soon as it happens, he knows what it is. He keeps clear boundaries in his head, and they crumble open all at once as the fluttering energy that is Parker floods them decisively. It’s like a scab ripped open and both of them bleeding into each other, uncontrollable and already too mixed to divide.

At first, they both try to pull back, to keep themselves separate and responsive to Hardison’s questions outside them. Ultimately, it’s no good. There’s no retreat, no separation. There’s no clear boundary where one ends and the other begins.

And then there’s no Parker or Eliot at all, not enough separation to even name them clearly, just them, just both. There are pieces that can still be identified as one or the other- Parker’s insecurity has a different flavor than Eliot’s, and her joy is all motion while his is still- but they’re quickly scattered and mixed, any attempt to keep them separate swept away.

There are no secrets. They aren’t any details, either, any stories or histories to be seen, but the feelings and imprints are there and there’s no hiding them. They come with scars, both of them, and they’re all visible, all there. Some of them match.

There’s a deep well of fear that’s common to them both and it radiates _if they knew if they really knew me if they really understood they wouldn’t want me I’d be gone I’m too bad I’m too broken it’s too late if they really knew_. Underneath it, there’s a smaller, deeper, scarier part- the same, but _if he really knew he’s too good if he really knew he couldn’t he wouldn’t he can’t know_. It belongs to them both. There’s nothing to do but be together with it, embrace each other with it, and make promises to each other and themselves.

It’s not all ugly hidden bits. They are, both of them, more than that. The dedication and strength are there, too, tangled through the pain and the fear.  They are skilled and strong and more content in their lives now than they’d believed was possible, after everything. They are violent, dangerous. They are kind. They carry brokenness and shame. They have hurt and ruined and wrecked. They carry tenderness in odd places, express it in odd ways. They love, fiercely and gently all at once, and it runs under everything, tangling together and helping to keep the rest from falling apart.

* * *

“So what the hell do we do?” Hardison asks frantically, as Eliot and Parker simultaneously let out relieved laugh-sobs and collapse sideways into each other.

“I’ll finish dealing with the job,” Nate says after a pause. “Sophie can call the anthropologist and see if she has anything to add. And you,” he waves at the lump that is their hitter and thief currently lying on top of one another, oblivious to the world, “deal with that.”

“You are the only one qualified to handle this,” Sophie adds, a bit more tactfully. “You are the only one of us they would trust with this.”

“Uh,” Hardison says, blinking at them. “Okay. Sure. Drop me at my apartment and I’ll… I dunno, keep an eye on them.”

* * *

They’re only distantly aware of what goes on around them, but they’re somewhat aware that Hardison is hovering, worrying, plying them with food and asking questions they can’t surface enough answer.

He loves them, they know. Normally they might try to shrink away from that knowledge, might find it frightening, but nothing is contained now, and they know. They love him. They know that too. It’s new and frightening, and they might push it away or minimize it other times, but here they can’t. It just is.

Eventually they slide willingly into a bed, safe and protected and understood, and they sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're still enjoying, everybody! As always, thanks to everyone who's commented :D


	12. Chapter 12

Eliot wakes up with Parker on one side of him, Hardison on the other, and no clear memory of how he ended up in this situation. He does what any reasonable man would do, and checks to make sure that he is wearing pants. He verifies that he is in fact clothed at the same time as the blending experience with Parker comes back in his memory, feeling strange and alien there.

It’s just him, now, and his head feels both thankfully normal and oddly empty without her in it. Eliot starts to suspect that it might be over. He doesn’t know why or how, but he hasn’t felt this alone in his head since it started.

He can’t get up without disturbing one of them, so he waits. He refuses to be the weird creep who watches people sleep, so he watches the light slowly change as it shines through the slats of the blinds and onto Hardison’s tasteful pale green wall.

Hardison stirs first, yawning and kicking before remembering the situation and snapping to attention and rolling over.

“Morning,” he says quietly. “Who are you and can you talk to me?”

“Eliot, and yeah. Feels pretty normal so far. Dunno what’ll happen when Parker wakes up,” Eliot says.

Parker kicks him lightly. “Pick a number between one and a hundred and think it as loud as you can,” she instructs.

Eliot rolls over and grins at her. He thinks of a number, but he’s pretty sure it doesn’t matter.

A second later, Parker shrugs, grinning. “No clue,” she replies cheerfully. “Since I assume we didn’t have any sex I don’t remember…”

Hardison blanches at the suggestion. “Well, no, babe, we’re not horrifying sex offenders,” he points out. “I dunno what happened. Y’all okay?”

“Yep,” Parker says. She turns her attention to Eliot and demands, “Hey. Feed me.”

Eliot figures she’s probably earned that much and clambers awkwardly over Hardison to get out of bed. Parker and Hardison arrive, the latter still in Yoda pajamas, around the time he’s plating the pancakes.

“Are you two all right?” Hardison asks, grabbing his plate.

“Yeah, I think so,” Parker says, pouring an absurd amount of syrup onto her pancakes. She glances at Eliot and adds, “Yesterday was really intense, but I still like you.”

She says it casually, but she’s seen enough now that the quiet confirmation still sends long shivers through him. “Thanks, Parker. I like you too.”

Parker grins. “Yeah, I know.”

“So what the hell happened yesterday?” Hardison asks, sounding bewildered.

“We weren’t different people. We got all mixed up. It’s hard to explain,” Parker says.

“…Okay, sure. Not sure why that’s a workable substitute for gettin’ down, but I’m glad it worked,” Hardison says.

Parker looks like she’s considering it. After a long minute, she says, “Dr. Timbrook said it was a unity ritual. There was unity. Just not naked unity. I think maybe something like that would have happened, if people were in love and having just-married-sex. Maybe not as strong, or for as long, because we waited days first. Maybe they’re supposed to want to see everything about each other and be, like, one person for a little while. I think that was the point, and the sex is just how they got there.” She wrinkles her nose and shrugs. “That’s just a guess, though.”

Hardison raises an eyebrow at her, but she’s been remarkably in-tune with this thing from the start. Besides which, he’s just glad it’s over, and they’re all right.

They finish up the pancakes in silence before Parker stands up and tells them, “I haven’t been really alone in days and it’s making me really tired, so I’m gonna go hide out in my warehouse and build a new harness. I’ll call you in a couple days.” She kisses Hardison, affectionately pokes Eliot in a bruise and knocks her shoulder against his. “I’m glad it was you. It would have been way worse if it was anyone else.” She turns to Hardison and adds, “I don’t think we would have been okay without you. Thanks.” She nods decisively and leaves.

Eliot relates to the desire for isolation. It’s been an exhausting few days. Still, he gets up and puts his plate in the sink before Hardison makes a face at him.

“Go on, man,” Hardison says. “You look worn out. Go… hit stuff and watch sports, or whatever you do to recharge from two days’ worth of involuntary sharing.”

That does sound pretty damn good. “Yeah, okay.” Eliot hesitates, but feels he owes something, so he adds, “Thanks. For helping.” Eliot winces a little, knowing that Hardison has spent the past few days giving everything he had to give to make things easier for them, but doesn’t have any more energy or softness left to put it into words.

Hardison grins delightedly at him, apparently getting it anyway. “‘Course, E. You’re both my people, you know that. I’m just glad it’s over now, you’re all right. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Eliot says, nodding. It’s mostly true. He’s a lot better off than he expected to be. He’s not sure what the fallout’s gonna be from everything that Parker knows, now, but he trusts her well enough, and he thinks they’re gonna be okay.

“A’ight, good. Go, see you in a few days. We’ll get together and blow up the whammy cups,” Hardison offers.

Eliot smirks, offers his hand for their handshake- _tap-tap-bump_ \- and heads out.

* * *

Over the next few days, everything smooths itself out. The FBI arrests Amy King and several of her Mafia henchmen. Testimony is very conflicted, but a search of her office turns up plenty of evidence of her crimes, plus some stolen goods that they had lying around from the last job. All the non-magical items stolen in the original heist are mailed back to Dr. Timbrook, mostly in hopes that she’ll stop calling Sophie to ask for the cups and preferably a PET scan of Eliot and Parker.

Hardison, of course, builds a custom-made explosive system and detonator for use in blowing up the whammy cups- strong enough to blast them to smithereens, weak enough for them to be nearby when it does.

Eliot texts him about it Wednesday morning, and Parker a few hours later, so he sends them the address of the field he’s using and meets them out there.

They’re a little awkward around each other, having had a few days to worry about it. Hardison cracks several stupid jokes in a row until it dissipates somewhat, then leaves to put the cups on the explosive pad. Eliot and Parker both give the cups a wide berth.

Hardison returns, passes out safety goggles and earplugs, and holds out the detonator, which is shaped like a video game controller, because he is who he is.

“You wanna do the honors?”

Parker giggles grabs it immediately. She holds it out to Eliot so he can put a finger on the button too.

“On three,” Hardison says, but Parker and Eliot ignore him and hit the button. There’s an enormous bang, and when the smoke clears, there’s nothing but cup debris.

Parker cheers and throws her arms over both of their necks. Hardison wraps an arm around her, letting his hand rest on Eliot’s back. Eliot hesitates, then mimics the pose. They stand like that for a while, watching the smoke blow away.

“I’m hungry,” Parker announces just as Hardison’s neck is starting to crick. “Eliot, what place has good food around here?”

Eliot grunts. “I smoked a brisket this morning. Come on.”

* * *

Eliot’s brisket is delicious, as are the various sides that he also made (he denies that he made the food for them, but nobody believes it). Parker makes happy noises as she eats, both because the food is really good and because it’s fun to watch him try not to smile about it.

Parker’s been thinking these past few days, about what she knows now, and what she wants. These things are hard for her a lot of the time, but she’s been working on it. And she’s pretty sure about what the answer’s gonna be, which helps.

She waits until the food’s cleared off and they’re sitting in companionable silence to bring it up.

“So, supernatural forces aren’t trying to make us have a threesome anymore,” Parker says, causing both Hardison and Eliot to startle in their seats and turn to stare at her, “but we, like, totally still _can_. And I’m about ninety-eight percent sure we all want to. So, how about it?”

They both gape for a long time. Hardison looks nervous, and Parker realizes for the first time that he didn’t, really, when they were talking about it before- he was scared for them, but he wasn’t really thinking about his part in it, about how it would affect him, even though it _would_ affect him. She hadn’t seen it then, how much he put aside for their emergency, but she sees it now, and it fills her with something warm and nice. Eliot’s definitely right. She’s in love with him.

“Eh, what?” Hardison squeaks.

“She- she didn’t discuss this with you first?” Eliot asks. He’s already half-standing to leave before he realizes that they’re in his apartment. “Uh, you two- get on the same page, and-”

“We did talk about it,” Parker points out to Hardison. “You brought it up. You said, and I quote, ‘Hell, yeah.’”

“…I did say that,” Hardison admits. “Uh, you just caught me off guard here, babe. Didn’t realize it was actually on the table.” He hesitates for a long moment, and for a second Parker panics, thinking that she’s misread everything, but then he glances shyly at a frozen Eliot and then at the table. “Yeah,” he says breathlessly. “Yeah, okay.” He slowly looks back up at Eliot and smiles, clearly still terrified, but offering. “Yes.”

Eliot lets out a long breath and glances between the two. “Are you sure?” he asks, voice low. “Are you sure that this is what you want?”

“Yep,” Parker responds immediately. Hardison nods. “And I’ve been in your head, so you can’t do that but-you-don’t-know-what-you’re-getting-yourselves-into crap.”

“What are you asking for, Parker?” Eliot asks, and then glances between them. His voice cracks when he asks, “How much do you want?”

Parker’s a little confused by the question, because she pretty much always wants everything that’s there to take and this whole labels thing never really worked for her, but Hardison looks too lost to answer, so she tries. “I like you. And you’re pretty. I like being with you. I want to do more of that, and also have sex with you both.”

Eliot chokes on a nervous laugh. Parker’s pretty sure it didn’t help him. Eliot does care about labels, about what’s allowed and what isn’t, and she doesn’t know how to think that way.

“We’ll figure it out,” Hardison says, and his voice sounds more even now. “We’ll- we can figure it out. Normal is whatever works for us, right? But, uh, Eliot, are you- are you asking whether this is just a sex thing or whether we wanna date you? Whether we have feelings for you?” Eliot just nods and Hardison just laughs, weakly, nodding in response. “Shit, Eliot. Yeah. Yeah, for ages now.”

Eliot looks at Parker, who just shrugs, not knowing how to answer.

“Feelings are confusing, but I’d totally date you,” Parker tells him. “Does that help? You know how I feel about you, from before. I gave you that.” She points at the counter she was sitting on when it happened.

Eliot shivers and says, “I still can’t tell what the hell you two are asking for, but yes. Yes, okay.” It sounds almost like it hurts when it comes out, but there’s even more relief. Parker knows how hard he’s tried not to want them, how much effort he’s put into keeping his feelings away from them. She also knows how much he wants them, how much he loves them.

“So, yes? Everybody’s in?” Parker asks, just to double-check.

“Not tonight,” Eliot adds quickly. “I- gimme some time to get used to the idea.”

Hardison nods and reaches out both his hands across the table. Parker takes it immediately and extends her other hand to Eliot. Slowly, and more tentatively than he does much of anything, he reaches out and puts his hands in both of theirs, closing the loop.

“Okay,” Hardison says, low and rumbling and reassuring, one of Parker’s favorite sounds. “Let us know.”

Eliot lets out a long breath, mutters, “Hell,” stands up, moves around the edge of the table, pulls Hardison to his feet, and kisses him.

Parker makes a happy noise and watches them. Hardison’s gripping her hand tightly, and when Eliot pulls away again, Hardison already looks a little wrecked, breathless and wide-eyed.

“You still cool, babe?” Hardison asks her breathlessly.

“I’m all warm,” she replies cheerfully. “And tingly.”

“Nice,” Hardison tells her.

Parker nods, stands up, and kisses Hardison- soft, sweet, slow, reassuring. She pulls back, beaming at him, and then kisses Eliot. He’s fiercer, more insistent, almost electric. They’re not tied together at the brain anymore, but it’s still the closest Parker can imagine to kissing a thunderstorm. She pulls back and grins at them both.

“I like this. This is good,” she tells them.

Hardison nods. “Yeah.” He looks back at Eliot and asks, “Do you need us to go now so you can take the time you need?”

Eliot closes his eyes and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, give me a few days. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Hardison says softly, smiling at him. “And you don’t need to hurry on our account. Just let us know when you’re ready, a’ight?”

Eliot nods, and Parker squeezes his hand and drops it, moving with Hardison out of the apartment.

It’s been a weird, magical week. Parker has no idea what happens next, but she doesn’t feel like she’s just jumped off a building with a faulty safety cord. If this week’s proven anything, it’s that there are people who want her there no matter who she is or what they know about her, and that’s really all any of them have ever wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's it. Let me know what you thought! I hope you enjoyed <3
> 
> As I mentioned at the beginning, this is my first Leverage fic. So, to everyone who's left comments and/or kudos so far, thank you so much, it's been an awesome experience. I appreciate the welcome more than I can say.


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